This Means War: FDR and Tuck have more than a bromance?
by roman.flores12
Summary: Movie: This Means War—AU: The truth behind Tuck and FDR's friendship, and how FDR has manipulated it to get what he wants. Bromance into a romance?
1. Chapter 1: Too Many Questions

If Tuck thought FDR had always been cocky, he would be right. About a year after FDR joined the CIA, Tuck became an agent. As expected, Tuck would be introduced to the agency's rumors and thoughts on certain agents, specifically FDR. FDR wa s known for his arrogance. That's no surprise since FDR was one of the top agent s at the CIA, and one of the most ruthless. Let's not play down the fact that he was a womanizer either. And according t o idle gossip, many of the woman at the agency whom were "annoyed" with FDR were actually suffering from a broken heart because he sure as hell wasn't the type to settle down.

Tuck couldn't really blame FDR's actions, somewhat. FDR had a nice, full set of hair, muscular body, dressed well, and had an amazing set of light-blue eyes. Of course every woman there wanted him. Actually, most of the men at the agency we re envious of FDR's charm. Tuck, on the other hand, had nothing to worry about. Women were also very fond of him, but Tuck was one-woman type of man. His body w as muscular, but much leaner than FDR's figure. Also, Tuck had dark-green eyes-which was probably his favorite asset.

Unlike FDR, Tuck never saw himself at the CIA. He just wanted to be a police officer like his father and his father before him. However, being a cop lacked a certain thrill. Even the armed forces offered some type of energetic release, but he couldn't see himself being months (or even years) apart from his family, especially his son. With some advice and direction from family and peers whom admire d Tuck's performances, the CIA seemed like a decent fit. As for FDR, the decision wasn't that hard. He didn't have children or any responsibilities at home. But one thing he did share with Tuck was their love for action and adrenaline rushes.

A full day didn't pass before Tuck bump into FDR, which wasn't surprising because he spent most of the day on tours of t he facility. Of all places to meet FDR, it was the restroom. Tuck had just finished having lunch, so eventually nature would call. He strolled into the restroom with only the intention of using a urinal before rushing to a meeting specifically for his sector. The restroom had a basic layout: four urinals, three stalls, and sinks. As Tuck was in a rush, he didn't have time to rush to admire the restroom aesthetics. Spotting the urinals, he noticed another guy taking care of business. Tuck took the urinal beside him. His decision didn't seem like an invasion of personal space due to the presence of dividers on each side of the urinal. Following Men's restroom etiquette, Tuck faced forward as he took care of business. In his peripheral vision, though, h e noticed the gentleman next to him slowly turning his head as if about to greet him. To not assume anything and make the situation awkward, Tuck continued to look forward. However, the man continued to stare. Luckily the silence was broken when the stranger greeted Tuck.

"You must be new around here," stated the stranger.

Though he hesitated at first, Tuck let out a simple, "Yeah."

By this point, both men were finished at the urinals and began to zip up their p ants. Both men walked to the sinks. Interestingly their placement was side-by-side as they were before. Tuck looked down at his hands as he lathered them. The stranger, on the other hand, stared at Tuck's reflection. Tuck could feel eyes piercing right through him. He became a little antsy. But he suddenly analyzed why he would be—he was a secret agent. He f aced far worse things than a bathroom creeper. Hence, he looked up from the sink and into the reflection watching him.

"Can I help you with something," Tuck asked sternly.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to stare," The man responded. "I was just trying to figure out your accent."

"Oh, well I'm English. I moved to the U. S. when I graduated high school. So the accent stuck"

"Interesting. I'm FDR, by the way. I've been at the CIA for about a year. So what-"

"I've heard about you," Tuck interrupted . "I'm sorry. I bet that came off a bit rude."

"Oh, that's okay. What exactly have you heard? And don't hold back."

Both men were done washing up and headed to the hand dryers.

"Oh, um, well...nice things," Tuck said hesitantly, looking at the hand dryer in tensely.

"Right," FDR said sarcastically with a smirk.

"Well, I've got a meeting," Tuck said. " It was nice meeting you."

Tuck headed for the door with FDR following behind him.

"I never got your name," FDR said.

"I'm Tuck."

"Do you have a last name?"

"I do, but I prefer to just go by my first name."

"Ideally," said FDR with a giggle.

Tuck found it a bit strange that this guy could not take a hint and leave him al one. It wasn't that he didn't like FDR's company, but he had somewhere to be. After a few twists and turns around the hallway, hoping that he would lose FDR in the process, Tuck finally reached the briefing room. He took a moment to verify the room number. FDR reached out for the door handle.

"Are you here for the briefing," asked FDR.

He opened the door and Tuck mindlessly followed him in.

"Yeah," said Tuck quickly before dashing to an occupied seat among the oval table.

_Finally, I have escaped him_, thought Tuck.

But Tuck celebrated a bit too early. Conveniently for his "stalker," there was a n unoccupied seat right across from Tuck . FDR took a seat quickly as the meeting began.

The lights went off and the projector's fan whirled wildly before an image was illuminated onto the white screen. Despite the room being filled with other agent s and officials, Tuck could not brush the feeling that he was being watched...again! Aside from his instincts, he knew whom to suspect. But he did not want to make his suspicions obvious. Although Tuck continued to look forward, he slowly peered into his peripheral vision at FDR. FDR appeared to be paying attention to the briefer, but his eye movements did not match up with the information being s hared. Tuck must have blown his cover be cause in that instant FDR rolled his head over his left shoulder into Tuck's direction. Tuck's eyes swiftly returned for ward.

_Dammit, he saw me, _thought Tuck._ I bet he thinks I'm the creeper now. Just keep looking forward. Keep looking forward._

And that's exactly what Tuck did, even though he could sense the occasional star e in his direction. What was odd about t he situation was that Tuck knew he would be watched because he was the new guy a t the agency. But FDR's stares were the only ones truly bothering him.

_What is wrong with me, _asked Tuck. _Just let it go._

The meeting was finally over. Tuck was welcomed by many of the agents as he walk ed out of the room. He could tell he was going to like it here. The only thing t hat mattered at this point was where his desk would be located. He hoped being t he new guy that he wouldn't be placed somewhere near the janitorial closet—or wo rse, next to FDR. Something about that guy still gave him the creeps.

As Tuck strolled around the corner, he w as met by Collins. Collins, the title sh e went by, was the head of the CIA.

"Oh, hello, Mrs. Collins," said Tuck.

"Hello, agent," replied Collins. "I hope you're liking your first day here."

"I actually am."

"That's good," she said as she bent her middle finger away from him as to signal him to follow her. "Your desk is ready. Based on your statistics and performance during the obstacle courses and tim police officer, you'll be grouped with other agents who share the same stamina."

Tuck responded with a simple mm-hmm.

Eventually they arrived at an array of occupied desks. Only one was empty.

"I trust you'll like this spot," said Collins. "I have other matters to attend t o so I'll leave you to it."

"Yes, ma'am," said Tuck. "Thank you."

Collins left the room as quickly as they came in.

Tuck walked around his desk to his new b lack-leather seat. Of course he had to t est-drive it. It would be blasphemous. H e sat down, and within minutes was reclining.

_I've done well, _he thought. _I'm finally where I was always meant to be._

As he reminisced about his past accomplishments, Tuck did not notice that his desk was across from an unoccupied desk. W ell, the desk had papers, folders, and a computer. It was definitely occupied, but the owner was not present.

"I wonder where my neighbor could be," Tuck whispered to himself.

Then, from behind him, he could hear footsteps approaching on the tile floor. It was a natural reaction for him to focus on movements coming towards him. The footsteps were becoming louder despite the chatter of his surrounding agents and t he clanging of their office supplies. Th en, from the side of him, a dark figure strolled past.

_It's my neighbor._

But before he could stand up and greet h is neighbor, Tuck froze in his tracks. He knew the figure. It was FDR.

_Oh, great. Just when I thought I was clear of him!_

"We just keep bumping into each other, don't we?" asked FDR.

"I see that we do," Tuck said nonchalantly as he gazed at his computer. "I wouldn't be surprised if my first mission involves us being assigned together." Tuck giggled awkwardly.

Today just wasn't Tuck's day because at that moment Collins called out to the agents from her office.

"Michael, Rick, Tuck, Lucy, and FDR. My office now."


	2. Chapter 2: Cardiopulmonary Resuscitation

In a hurry all five agents rushed together to Collins' office. Turns out there was a terrorist threat in Bangladesh that required them to neutralize the group before they could bomb the area.

Within a matter of two hours the agents were suited up and briefed before being boarded onto a private plane designed as a cargo plane. No surprise, FDR would be leading this mission. But by this point Tuck no longer cared for FDR's constant questions. There was action on its way!

With time to pass on their trip, the agents bombarded Tuck with questions. Not surprisingly, FDR followed suit. The basic questions were asked: Where are you from; What made you want to join the CIA; Is this your first mission or are you actually a rookie? Tuck wasn't surprised by these questions, but FDR asked something that seemed out of place: "Do you have a girlfriend?" Tuck didn't like to discuss his private life. But he didn't want to be rude, especially with many eyes and ears waiting for an answer.

"Well, I am currently divorced, and I have a son," Tuck replied. The other agents nodded, but FDR's reaction seem the one out of place because although he nodded with the others he raised an eyebrow as if suspicious of Tuck's answer. Luckily for Tuck, he would not have to answer any more questions because they were only minutes away from their drop-off point.

Tuck and the others reached for their parachutes. He was surrounded by the sounds of buckles clicking and straps being pulled. Tuck seemed to be having trouble correctly strapping his parachute to himself.

"Need some help?" FDR asked. "These things are a little tricky."

"Sure," said Tuck with a nervous giggle.

"Are you nervous? It'll be fine. I remember being nervous on my first mission."

FDR connected the last few buckles. For safe measure, he double-checked any connections Tuck had already made. Tuck found himself being spun around as straps tightened around his chest, waist and groin.

"I'm not nervous exactly," Tuck said with a slight groan due to the straps tightening deep into his groin. "I'm just anxious. I've been waiting for something like this for years. Now it's finally here."

"That's the spirit," said FDR, taking a step back to look at Tuck's complete get-up. "You look ready!"

"I don't think my jewels are," Tuck said jokingly as he fixed himself.

"You'll get used to it," said FDR as he glanced down quickly while Tuck arranged himself into a more comfortable position.

The lights in the plane suddenly dimmed. A voice over the intercom announced their arrival. Suddenly a red light flashed. The light signaled that the loading/unloading door was opening, which revealed a dark night sky. One by one the agents made their way to the door. Tuck took a deep breathe as he lined up with the others. FDR stood behind him. Tuck closed his eyes and started to concentrate before he had to make his way off the plane. Out of nowhere, he felt hands caress and squeeze his shoulders. They were FDR's hands.

"Here we go," said FDR in an encouraging tone. "There's no going back!"

The first agent jumped and then was followed by the others. Tuck got a running start before leaping. His adrenaline rush thrilled him. With night-vision goggles he could see the rest of the agents. Whipping past him in a planking formation was FDR. Tuck decided to do the same to catch up with FDR and the others. Within a matter of seconds the team was over a darkened field. They deployed their parachutes and slowly drifted to the ground. The agents then took off their chutes before carrying only the essentials provided in their parachute bags, which consisted of a few guns, ammo, grenades, smoke bombs, and communicator.

The agents were about a mile from the terrorist hideout, and the plan was simple: gain any intelligence of the next terrorist attack, even if that involved a few casualties. As they weaved their way through trees and bushes, they could make out a faint light leading into a cave. There were armed guards, so FDR gestured for two agents to sneak behind the men. He, Tuck, and the remaining agent waiting patiently in the trees. Faint whistles could be heard before the guards dropped lifeless to the floor.

The team, lead by FDR, rushed into the cave where they were violently greeted by 20 men. One agent shot at the lanterns that illuminated the cave and its tunnels. Now everyone was surrounded by darkness. The night-vision goggles came in handy as the agents rushed the men. Bursts of light filled the cave as bullets were fired as well as ricocheting off the cave walls. Within seconds the agents had the entire cave under control...or so they thought. Rustling could be heard in one of the two tunnels (extending from the entrance) which could only mean that not all of the men—and their leader—were dead or at least knocked unconscious. FDR signaled to Tuck to follow him while the other three agents made their way into the other tunnel. FDR and Tuck slowly crept should-to-shoulder down the tunnel with guns in hand. Their night-vision goggles also had an infrared option, which revealed three warm-blooded men at the end of the tunnel. The terrorists must have had some sensed their footsteps because suddenly shots were fired toward FDR's direction. Tuck and FDR separated to opposing sides of the wall before returning fire. Still shooting, the agents rushed down the tunnel where they appeared to have shot two of the three men. The third had just made his way around the corner and out a secret passage. FDR rushed after him while Tuck reassured that the men were actually dead and not planning to shot them from behind once they left.

Tuck heard gunfire outside of the passage. He knew he had to assist FDR even if he assumed he could handle it on his own. Outside of the tunnel he could not tell what direction FDR was in while in pursuit of their leader. However, a trail of blueprints and secret documents created a "breadcrumb trail" through the trees. And off he went. Eventually the path was no longer paved with paper, so he had to resort to shouting out FDR's name. There was no answer, but he could make out the sound of grunting deep in the trees. Tuck raced toward the sound just in case it faded. The grunts did fade but not because it stopped but because the grunts were overpowered by the sounds of a large waterfall. A full moon illuminated the entire surface of the trees and water. It appeared that FDR had chased the assailant to the water, and now the two men were fighting at the top of the fall on large boulders. Tuck rushed through the water, which was extremely difficult by the drag of the water, before finally reaching them. Suddenly, the assailant pulled out a knife. The agents were not intimidated by such a measly weapon, especially since FDR and Tuck had the man surrounded. FDR's eyes narrowed at the man as if to suggest "your move." The man kept an open ear towards Tuck. Within a blink, the man leaped toward FDR, which resulted in the knife being freed during FDR's tactical moves, but the force of the attack was enough to cause both men to slip off the boulder. Now both men drifted toward the fall. FDR and the attacker continued to fight in the water despite an impending doom in a few yards. Tuck hopped from rock to rock to try to get closer to FDR, but it appeared the water gained momentum the closer it got to the fall. Tuck hopped even quicker than before. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears. He made it to the boulder closest to the fall in hopes of reaching out to FDR and lifting him up. Tuck tried to maintain his balance and hold on the rock while extending a hand.

"Take my hand!" he shouted.

Tuck only received a quick glance (and maybe even a grin). FDR continued to wrestle the assailant, despite his own actions to reach for the surrounding rocks.

One last time Tuck shouted, "Take my hand!"

But it was too late. The two men were dragged over the fall, which by Tuck's guess was about twice the height as Big Ben. As quick as he got to the waterfall, Tuck ran toward the trees and followed any slope that extended downward. It had to lead him to the base of the fall eventually. Minutes had gone by until Tuck reached the river that was fed by the waterfall.

"FDR! Can you hear me! FDR," Tuck said in an exhausted voice.

Tuck then noticed a body floating face-down. Based on his clothing it wasn't FDR.

_Hopefully he didn't drift down river, _Tuck thought.

His eyes searched up and down the river, but there was no sight of him. Suddenly he heard coughing where the river twisted around trees. Tuck didn't have time to find a safe passage across the river. Also, the water wasn't as wild as it was before, so Tuck decided to swim across. His run down from the waterfall had tired him, but he forced himself to make the last few strokes to make it across the riverbank. Once there, Tuck saw an unconscious FDR.

_He must have too much water in his lungs_.

FDR's chest did not appear to be moving, so Tuck kneeled down to feel any movement of air out of FDR's mouth. There was no breathing, so Tuck had to resort to CPR. Tuck lifted FDR's chin to clear his throat and began to resuscitate him. From prior experience as an officer, Tuck knew how these situations usually went. But every time he would lean in to blow air down FDR's throat, it felt like FDR's lips kept closing shut. By Tuck's third exchange of breathe, FDR began to cough wildly with small traces of water exiting his mouth.

"Ugh," coughed out FDR. "That water was filthy. Remind me not to do that unless we are in the Caribbean."

"Why did you even do that?" Tuck asked angrily. "You could have gotten yourself killed!"

FDR could see the sincerity in Tuck's eyes.

"I-I'm sorry," said FDR while trying to sit up-right. "I have always been a show-off. It's my tragic flaw. I guess I was just trying to impress you on your first mission."

"Okay," he said begrudgingly. "But no more. I know you're a hot shot. Just no more foolishness."

"But that's the best part!"

FDR noticed this wasn't funny based on Tuck's reaction.

"Alright, I promised to keep my shenanigans down. For now, help me up."

Tuck hooked one of his hands under FDR's left shoulder. Tuck was about to let go of FDR, assuming he had decent footing, but he reached back out again when FDR let out a howling cry. It appeared that FDR had broken his leg and severely bruised his thigh.

"That must have happened when you decided to drift off a waterfall surrounded by sharp rocks," Tuck said sarcastically.

"Damn, this hurts," said FDR hissing through his teeth.

"We need to cut your pant leg so I can fasten a few sticks around it," said Tuck.

Tuck reached for his flip-blade and began cutting up FDR's pant leg. To be sure that FDR didn't also fracture his femur, Tuck began to massage around his thigh. There were no broken bones, but he did have a few nasty cuts that had shards of sharp rock.

"We don't want these cuts to get infected. You're going to have to take off your pants so we can remove the shards. I would suggest waiting until we regrouped with the team, but who knows how long that will take—all of our equipment is wet!"

FDR simply nodded as he undid his buckle and zipper. He hissed as he slowly pulled his pants down. His entire thigh was covered in lots of blood, even his gray boxer-briefs were soaked. Eventually the pants were mid-thigh, which allowed Tuck to pull out the shards. FDR hissed even time Tuck anywhere on his thigh.

"Stop whining," said Tuck.

"Well why don't you shove pieces of rock into your thigh!" FDR said sarcastically. One shard was so deep that it sent a painful shock up body. FDR jerked his head back and groaned.

"Dammit!" exclaimed FDR. "How many more?"

"Just a few," Tuck responded "There are two that are near your...uh-private area. Can you get those? They're underneath your underwear."

"Let me try. Ouch! This damn underwear keeps rubbing against the shards."

FDR had no choice but to pull down his underwear. Tuck naturally looked away to give FDR privacy, and also because he was kind of embarrassed. It hadn't been a complete week and he was already seeing more than he planned.

_He's definitely a shower not a grower, _thought Tuck. _Why did I just think that? Gross!_

"Ow! I'm sorry," stated FDR. "I can't do it. It's like a band-aid: it has to be removed quickly! I can't get a descent grip on it, so it keeps sliding around. Can you just please do it?"

Seeing that his fellow agent was in agony, Tuck nodded his head with a stone-cold expression.

_Oh, so you can fight atop waterfalls, but you can't deal with a few sharp rocks? I thought you were ruthless._

Tuck reached toward FDR's groin. FDR used his hands to cover his "assets." A few pinches along the ends of the shards and they were out. Tuck had a silly thought but brushed it off: _that was easy. They weren't stuck in his thigh. Whatever. _

FDR picked up his underwear and pants. Tuck tied up his leg with stray twigs and vine. Tuck then pulled FDR up and moved his left arm around his neck.

"Can you walk a little?" asked Tuck.

"I should be able to move long enough for us to regroup."

Luckily, the remaining agents actually found them. Seeing FDR bruised and broken seemed odd in their eyes since FDR was known for being ruthless. But that wasn't important. They did what they had to do, and now all they need to do was get the hell out of there. Using a functioning communicator, the team was eventually airlifted out of Bangladesh.


	3. Chapter 3: Plastic Wrap

After their mission in Bangladesh, Tuck and FDR grew closer...and not because Tuck took a liking to FDR. Due to his macho decision on their previous mission, FDR was on temporary leave to allow his broken leg and bruised body to heal. As expected, FDR did not leave willingly. He genuinely thought he could continue working at full capacity at the agency. It took Collins giving him a good scare that made FDR begrudgingly leave. It was only for three weeks. But for FDR, any time away from the agency was hell. Also, Tuck was a part of why he didn't want to leave. FDR felt that he needed to show him the ropes during his first few weeks at the agency. That was obviously not going to happen. However, luckily for FDR, Tuck would be spending time with him. But it would not be at the agency. Turns out Tuck talked to Collins about taking time off to take care of FDR. Collins disagreed with his decision, but she eventually gave in because she wanted Tuck to became FDR's muse, since FDR was one of the best agents the agency had to offer.

FDR didn't receive a phone call or email about Tuck being his new, temporary caregiver. Rather, FDR awoke to a knock at his door at 9 am. FDR was still drowsy from his pain medication, so he wasn't sure if he was hearing things. He decided to go back to bed. But once again, he heard knocking at the door. He really wasn't in the mood for an uninvited guest, so he decided to ignore the knocks, which eventually turned into loud bangs. FDR became so annoyed that he twisted his way out of bed so as to not irritate his cast-covered leg. The banging on the door continued, so FDR had no time to put on pajamas or a shirt (but he did already have on boxers). FDR slowly limped to the door. The sound of his cast against his hardwood floor must have alerted the person at the door because the knocking suddenly stopped. FDR slowly reached his front door but crept quietly to the peephole. He couldn't see anyone. A dark figure in a dark coat suddenly stepped into his view through the peephole. Instinctively, FDR reached to the small table next to the door—without averting his eyes from the peephole—to find his gun. As quickly as he reached for the gun, it was suddenly pointed at the door. But, for precaution, FDR moved to the edge of the door, his right shoulder pressed up against his wall.

"Who is it?" FDR asked in a deep voice.

"It's me," Tuck replied.

FDR didn't even have to ask 'whose _me?'_ He could tell from Tuck's smooth accent whom was at the door. But FDR still felt uneasy about this odd visit.

"What do you want?" FDR asked through the door.

"I need to talk to you," said Tuck, who was starting to feel embarrassed because he looked like a lunatic shouting at a closed door. "May I please come in? Your neighbors are starting to think I'm a weirdo who sneaked onto their floor."

Even if FDR didn't want to let Tuck into his apartment, he couldn't resist that English accent. That accent could stop wars. Hell, it could even start wars—just like Helen of Troy.

"Alright, hang on" FDR said quickly as he put away his gun.

Tuck looked up and down the hallway to make sure FDR's neighbors were no longer alarmed by the stranger in their hallway. Hearing the sound of the door unlock, Tuck looked forward and fixed his jacket. The door opened and revealed a half-naked FDR in a cast. Naturally Tuck looked FDR up and down.

_How often does he work out, _Tuck asked? _He doesn't just have a six-pack, he has an eight-pack. _

Tuck quickly snapped out of his quiet admiration for FDR's physique and slowly walked in with his eyes peering left to right so he could take in the full aesthetics of FDR's apartment.

"How did know where I live?" FDR asked as soon as he closed the door.

"Um, well, I had to look you up in the system at the agency," Tuck said with slight embarrassment. "I should have got your number instead, but I wasn't sure if you would answer because of the side-effects of the pain medication you received. Those are pretty powerful pills. I'm not surprised, though, you are pretty bruised up."

"I would have preferred a call. It is a bit creepy that you are here. Also, it seems you read up on my medical records."

"Yeah, this is a bit awkward."

"Well, since you're already here, would you like something to drink? Want water? A soda?"

"I'll take a beer if you have one."

FDR walked slowly to his kitchen, that was only a few feet from the front door. Sensing FDR was in some type of discomfort, Tuck volunteered to get his own drink. At first FDR was going to resist, but he realized that he was still only wearing boxers.

"Yeah, go ahead and help yourself," said FDR as he strolled around the corner toward his bedroom. "Make sure to get me one! I'll be out soon."

Tuck opened the fridge, pulled out two cold beers and popped them open using his bare hands. He then walked from the kitchen towards the living room, which lied a few feet from the kitchen.

Sitting on the couch, Tuck shouted out to FDR, "Your beer is waiting for you on the coffee table. Mind if I turn on the TV?"

"Sure, make yourself at home," FDR shouted from his room. "Hey, make sure my beer is on a coaster. I can barely move, so don't expect me to clean up your messes."

FDR let out a small giggle.

"Yes, it is on a coaster, Mister Clean Freak."

Tuck began flipping through the channels and noticed there was a Chips marathon. At that moment, FDR walked around the corner and headed toward the couch.

"No way! A Chips marathon?" exclaimed FDR.

"You're a fan?" asked Tuck.

"Hell yeah. I used to watch this show with my dad. This show actually got me interested in wanting to be a kick-ass law enforcer. On the count of three, name your favorite character. 1-2-3!"

"Frank!"

"Frank!"

"Cool," FDR said nonchalantly. "I think it was his hair that I admired the most."

Tuck giggled.

"I can definitely see that. You have a nice set of hair."

Tuck reached out toward FDR's head with the intention of messing up the perfectly molded hairstyle. But in a flash, FDR grabbed Tuck's wrist.

"Don't mess with the 'do," FDR said sternly.

Tuck's eyes widened, not sure if FDR was serious. But FDR cracked a smile and let go of Tuck's wrist.

"Hey, I didn't ask you, but why are you here?" inquired FDR.

Tuck hadn't placed his beer down since FDR entered the room. Now he was taking a huge swig of it before he answered FDR's question. Tuck couldn't even look into FDR's eyes.

"Um..about that. This is probably going to sound cheesy, which is probably why I preferred to tell you in person so you would know that I am sincere. I felt bad that you were on temporary leave."

Before Tuck could continue, FDR interjected, "Felt bad? Why? It's not like you did this to me."

FDR pointed to his cast. Tuck looked at the cast.

"I know it's not my fault, but I feel partially responsible."

Tuck still couldn't look FDR in his eyes, so he continued to stare at the TV.

"Back in Bangladesh, you told me you were showing off," Tuck said in a serious tone. "I don't know how to say this, but I feel like your injuries are my fault."

FDR tilted his head sideways to show confusion. Tuck could feel FDR's eyes on his cheek.

"Well, I know it's not like I pushed you off that waterfall, but maybe if I wasn't there, you wouldn't have acted so foolish."

Tuck finally looked at FDR. One side of FDR's mouth extended into a smile.

"I never took you as the sentimental type," said FDR as he reached for Tuck's shoulder.

"Having a child changes you," stated Tuck with a giggle.

"Where do we go from here?"

Tuck raised one of his eyebrows to show his confusion by FDR's question.

"In other words, do I lean in for a kiss, or 50/50 from each person?" FDR said jokingly.

Tuck rolled his eyes and pushed his FDR back by his shoulder.

"Can you take anything serious?" asked Tuck.

Secretly, though, Tuck was glad FDR broke the awkward silence.

"Do you want to continue watching the Chips marathon, or do you want to do something else?" asked FDR.

"I don't mind. We can do whatever."

"I'm actually hungry," said FDR as he tried to push himself up from the couch. "There's a new restaurant around the corner. I do hope you like tacos."

"Sure. That sounds great."

"First, I need to shower."

"Is that what that smell is?"

FDR picked up a pillow from the couch and threw it at Tuck.

"Shut up, you mother Tuck-er."

Tuck giggled.

"I've never heard my name used like that," Tuck said sarcastically.

FDR began walking to his bedroom. Tuck remained on the couch.

"Were you serious about helping me out?" FDR shouted.

"Uh...yeah!" Tuck responded with uneasiness in his voice because he knew a request was on its way.

"If I'm going to shower, I need to wrap my cast and stitches in plastic wrap."

"Um, yeah, sure."

Tuck knew what he was in for when he talked to Collins, so he couldn't be mad at the strange request.

"I'm assuming you have the plastic wrap in your room," Tuck said as he headed toward FDR's bedroom.

"No, you pervert," replied FDR with a giggle. "It should be in the kitchen. Top drawer to the left of the kitchen."

"I wasn't suggesting anything perverted! I just thought you would have taken a shower since your injury."

"Oh, my bad."

By the time Tuck arrived in the bedroom with the plastic wrap, FDR was already undressing in the restroom. The restroom door was almost closed, but it was opened enough for Tuck to notice FDR pulling off his boxers from around his cast.

"Are you sure you need my help with this?" asked Tuck.

"You don't have to, but you have already seen my goods," retorted FDR. "Also, it's the least you could do for pushing me off that waterfall."

"Hey!"

"I'm just kidding. So are we doing this or what?"

"Yeah," Tuck said with a sigh. "I'm coming in."

Tuck swung the door open. Standing before him was a completely nude FDR. Tuck averted his eyes toward the shower, which was behind FDR. In his peripheral vision, Tuck noticed that Tuck's bronze skin was even throughout his body, which suggested that FDR sunbathed or got spray tans while naked. Tuck could never be in FDR's shoes. Or in this situation, his cast. FDR definitely had a certain confidence about himself that Tuck rarely came across.

"Where do I start?" asked Tuck.

"Start around my foot," replied FDR. "Wrap enough so that it is sealed."

Tuck kneeled down before FDR, whom noticed that Tuck seemed a bit uneasy so he made sure to cover his groin. FDR could have sworn that he heard Tuck say thanks. Or maybe that is what he expected Tuck to say.

Tuck finally wrapped the cast.

"Here comes the tricky part," Tuck stated as he pointed to the stitches and bruises up and down FDR's thigh. "I have to be gentle here. I can't be rough like I was with your cast."

FDR smirked. I guess you could say "rough" was one of many of his trigger word.

"I can suck it up. Do what you got to do," FDR said proudly.

Tuck started wrapping around FDR's knee. The plastic-wrap roll made its way around FDR's thigh, around and around. Eventually Tuck reached FDR's upper thigh. Tuck signaled FDR to turn around so he could see if all his thigh was probably covered. The only part that was uncovered was the crevice between his upper thigh and butt cheek.

"I just have one more wrap to do," Tuck said.

Tuck had never been this close to another man's ass before. But he had to admit, it was not bad looking. He could tell that FDR did squats based on the definition of his legs and ass. Tuck had already come this far, so what harm was there in making sure he did the job properly. Tuck reached out to FDR's butt cheek, raised it up and swooped the plastic wrap around it. On the way through FDR's legs, Tuck had to pass his groin before finally cutting and taping the end of the plastic wrap.

"That ought to do it," said Tuck. "This might be my best work."

Tuck smiled and stood up. FDR returned the smile.

"Alright, time for me to shower," stated FDR as he reached for the shower faucet.

"Sure," Tuck said simply.

Tuck turned around and began walking out the door. Good thing he didn't look back because he would have seen FDR grinning and eying him up and down like a hawk. FDR could definitely get used to having someone take care of him.


	4. Chapter 4: Jeremy

FDR had his fair share of bromances during his time at the agency. Some he preferred over others, but he still maintained an intimate connection with his fellow agents. Nothing beyond the harmless arm-behind-the-shoulder and jokingly touchy-feely behavior occurred. He was never interested in his bros like that. That is not to say he never thought about trying something with another man. FDR was raised to be a ladies' man, and he was definitely fulfilled with being one. However, he always knew that his fascination with men expanded beyond his intention of sharing brotherly love. He also knew his feelings weren't anything new.

Back in high school, he was the quarterback of the football team. And as expected, group showers happened after practice or a game. During those years, like most boys, he went through puberty and started to notice his eyes trailing off as his teammates undressed or lathered themselves up with soap. One boy in particular stood out to FDR. His name was Jeremy. He was a junior, whereas FDR was a senior. Jeremy was the first to start a bromance with FDR, which was mostly so FDR would help train Jeremy into a worthy quarterback replacement once FDR graduated.

Jeremy had a very similar muscle build compared to FDR when in high school. His body was lean, but his legs were toned and his arms and pecs had the most definition. He also had brown eyes and short black hair. He definitely had his charm, though he was not the brutish type like FDR. He had a certain innocence and naïve personality that made people naturally drawn to him-something even FDR couldn't resist.

Most weekends FDR trained Jeremy in his backyard. Of course on the weekend they would take breaks and play video games or join friends for a night on the town. A few times their training went late into the evening and Jeremy would just spend the night at FDR's house. Being boys, FDR's parents were not opposed to them sharing a room or even a bed. Of course barely any sleep took place those night. FDR and Jeremy usually discussed sports, the hot girls at school, and their plans beyond high school. But one night stood out among the rest. FDR could easily recall it like it was yesterday. A typical conversation between two boys on one bed led to something more intimate.

A radio played rock-n-roll music in the background as FDR and Jeremy lounged on the bed. Practice that Saturday was pretty tiring. Being lazy like most teenagers, Jeremy and FDR remained in their sweat-drenched clothes. Not surprising for football players, though, they were unaware of their stench. After a few minutes of chowing down on snacks and playing Super Mario Brothers, the sexually oriented questions began flying.

"Are you more of a tits or ass man?" asked Jeremy, who had his torso hanging off the bed.

"I would have to say an ass man," replied FDR as he watched Jeremy's shirt rise above his shorts and in turn reveal the top of his boxers that peaked above the line of his shorts. "What do you prefer?"

"I'm the ideal man," said Jeremy as he raised his arms toward the floor as if to show pride in his statement. "I like both!"

At this point Jeremy's shirt had risen even higher, revealing a light-brown happy trail. As if by reflex, FDR licked his lips, but he immediately noticed what he had done and shifted his gaze toward the ceiling.

"I always saw you as an ass man," stated FDR.

"Why is that?"

"Because you can't keep your eyes off everyone when we're in the locker room showers."

"Shut up," said Jeremy with a giggle.

Jeremy then used his abdominal muscles to lift himself off the ground and back onto the bed. The blood rushing to his head made him dizzy. Naturally Jeremy fixed his shirt as he sat upright onto the bed. FDR smirked with slight disappointment. He wasn't done admiring that happy trail because...well, it made him happy.

The two went back to playing video games. FDR and Jeremy sat on the floor with their backs against the side of FDR's mattress. During the game, FDR would peer over at Jeremy while he watched the TV intensely. Aside from his cute cheekbones, FDR mainly watched Jeremy because of his plump, pink lips. FDR loved lips. And based on what girls from his school told him, FDR was a great kisser.

Suddenly Jeremy paused the game and looked over to FDR, whom instantly snapped out of his trance.

"Do you mind if I change the game?" asked Jeremy. "I'm getting bored of Mario Brothers."

"Sure," replied FDR.

"What else do you have?"

"Not sure," stated FDR as he looked over to the games stacked next to the console. "Check for yourself."

Rather than get up and look, Jeremy got up on hands and knees and crawled toward the console. FDR cocked his head to the left as he admired Jeremy's ass moving in his shorts. FDR made sure to keep an eye on Jeremy's face just in case he immediately turned around. He wouldn't know how to explain what he was doing if he was caught.

"I don't see anything I would like to play," Jeremy said with his backside still facing toward FDR.

"I have an idea," said FDR with glee. "Wanna play poker?"

"I'm not sure. Only if we make it interesting."

"What do you mean?" inquired FDR as he raised an eyebrow.

"Hmm. How about after every win, we end it with a game of Truth or Dare? That way, it'll give us something to look forward to."

"Sure," responded FDR, though he worried about what truths and dares would be asked or demanded.

FDR won the majority of the first few wins. The truths and dares were fairly interesting and were as expected during the beginning of a truth-or-dare game, such as "Who do you like? Are you still a virgin? When did you lose your virginity? How was it?" As it seemed nothing was off limits, FDR got a little adventurous after another win.

"Alright, truth or dare?" said FDR with a proud demeanor.

"Um, truth," responded Jeremy hesitantly.

Sparing no time, FDR quickly asked, "Are you a good kisser?"

Jeremy's eyebrow raised up in confusion at FDR's weak question.

"You could have done better than that," stated Jeremy sarcastically.

"I could always ask something else," responded FDR. "But just you wait. You don't know what I have planned."

"No, that's okay. I'll answer your question. Um, I haven't kissed many girls, but I would think I'm good at it."

Drawing out the syllables, FDR nonchalantly responded, "Alright."

Jeremy could tell something was up, but he liked the tension. He did say to make it interesting.

They both rushed through the next game. Unfortunately for FDR, Jeremy won the next game.

"Boo-ya," said Jeremy proudly. "So what's it gonna be? Truth or dare?"

"Let's make a deal," responded FDR sternly. "If I say dare, I will do whatever you say. But, when I win again—and I will—you have to do whatever I dare you to do."

Jeremy stared at FDR for a few seconds. He waited for FDR to either laugh at his gullible nature or to finally spill his intentions. FDR was the quarterback, and with that comes power. And FDR loved to use that power to manipulate people—and that control even expanded beyond the football field.

"So what's it going to be, mister future quarterback?" asked FDR. "Your future football career is based on a risk. Are you willing to risk something now?"

Jeremy squinted at FDR, but maintained a grin upon his face. Despite knowing that FDR was just pulling his leg, Jeremy was sensitive to people underestimating his capabilities and ambition.

"Fine!" exclaimed Jeremy. "Deal!"

"Let's do this," said FDR with excitement. "What you got for me?"

"This should be a good one, mister pervert."

FDR could only nod in agreement. He was pretty fearless.

"I've already seen you naked, so that would be no fun."

"See? I was right! You do watch us in the locker room."

"Shut up, you know what I mean."

"Right."

"I need to make you do something that would make you at the very least uncomfortable. And we all know you would walk down the street naked if you could."

A few moments of silence past.

"I'm waiting," stated FDR impatiently.

"Got it! You've got to give me a lap dance. And you've got to give it your all or I won't fulfill your dare."

"Dammit! Fine!"

Despite his response, FDR was secretly excited. FDR lifted himself up and walked over to his desk that lied next to his bed. He then grabbed his armless chair and brought it to Jeremy. Signaling with his hand, he directed Jeremy to sit. As Jeremy made himself comfortable, FDR made sure the door was locked. FDR set the mood by tuning the radio to a station playing a sensual song that would compliment his idea of stripper moves. The sun had already set at this point, so FDR's ceiling fan light was the only thing illuminating the room. But that was too bright. If FDR was going to do this, he was going to do this right. He turned off the ceiling fan light and clicked his lamp switch instead. Now the room was dimly lit, enough to show off the best of FDR's immediate features on his face and exposed arms.

"Are you ready for this?" asked FDR sensually.

FDR raised the volume on the radio and then turned around slowly. Facing toward Jeremy, FDR noticed a certain angst in his expression. Jeremy definitely didn't think this through. He somewhat regretted daring FDR to do this, but it was too late to go back on that decision now. Doing so would definitely make him look like a punk.

Despite his liking for the situation, FDR began to laugh nervously.

_Here goes nothing, _thought FDR.

FDR began to move his hips side to side. He just couldn't look Jeremy in the eye if he was going to carry this out. For once in a very long time FDR was embarrassed. Yet, he continued moving. At a steady pace, he made his way toward Jeremy. FDR's right hand ventured to the top of his shorts and eventually under his shirt. The bottom of FDR's abs were slightly visible as his shirt was pulled upward. Naturally Jeremy's eyes wandered downward before returning to their initial gaze beyond FDR. With the removal of his shirt, FDR stood before Jeremy, whom scanned his body. FDR and Jeremy locked eyes. The tension in the air was strong, so FDR decided to flex jokingly. Jeremy giggled; it obviously worked. FDR then reached for Jeremy's legs before kneeling in front of them. He traveled his hands up Jeremy's thighs, stomach, and chest. FDR could sense Jeremy's tenseness through his pecs. There was no going back for either one of them. Jeremy did say for him to give it his all, and that is definitely what FDR was doing. FDR lifted himself back up. He then extended his right leg over Jeremy's left leg and did the same for his left leg so that now he was straddling Jeremy. With his hands now upon Jeremy's shoulders, FDR slowly ground his pelvis into Jeremy's groin. Interestingly, FDR not only felt Jeremy relax beneath him but he could have sworn he felt a semi-erection. That definitely turned FDR on, which only made him want to continue even more. A few times during his grind, FDR rubbed his pecs against Jeremy's chest, all while making sure to graze the side of Jeremy's ear with his nose. Jeremy shuddered every time FDR did that. Now it was time to make use of Jeremy's hands. Yeah, you aren't supposed to touch the strippers, but FDR could make an exception. FDR stood upright again but this time he turned around and moved his hips side to side, just enough time to allow Jeremy to admire his assets and upper back. FDR sat into Jeremy's lap once more, but this time he made sure to grab onto Jeremy's hands, which were slightly sweaty due to his nervousness. FDR put Jeremy's hands on his chest and began moving them up and down. Nothing was said since FDR began dancing, but at this moment he let out a slight moan. With Jeremy's left hand still on his chest, FDR pushed Jeremy's right hand down toward the top of his shorts. But it wasn't going to be that easy (even if Jeremy truly wanted this to happen). FDR led Jeremy's hand down toward his right thigh before pulling it back up and slightly grazing his own semi-erection. When he had done so, FDR threw his head back slowly so that it rested on Jeremy's left shoulder and let out an even louder moan. Jeremy quickly tensed up again. That was FDR's cue that it was more than likely time to move on back to the game.

As quickly as it started, FDR was back on his feet and Jeremy remained in the computer chair smirking out of slight embarrassment and mostly because he felt like he had got FDR good this time.

"Well, that was interesting," began Jeremy.

"Sure was," responded FDR. "I can't believe you made me agree to that."

Despite what he felt during the lap dance, FDR was simply reinforcing his expected embarrassment with his fake expression of "regret."

"Alright, time to get back to the cards," said FDR.

If only Jeremy could know the control it took for FDR to hold back a sinister grin as he dealt the cards.

The next few minutes seemed liked hours. FDR desperately wanted to win—not only to have Jeremy engage in his dare, but also to prevent Jeremy from pulling another dare. Satan only knows what other mischievous acts he had hidden up his sleeve. Finally, it was time for them to show their hands.

"You first," commanded FDR with a slight smile.

Jeremy opened his mouth as if he were about to laugh. Suddenly he placed his cards down in front of FDR.

"Beat that!" stated Jeremy proudly. "A straight!"

FDR sighed as if to admit defeat. Jeremy threw his hands up in the air to express his celebratory mood. Then FDR slapped his hand down.

"A royal flush," said FDR softly.

Jeremy's eyes opened wide.

"You've got to be joking me," said Jeremy as he reached out to FDR's cards. "You cheated!"

"Ah-ah-ah," sung FDR. "Don't be a sore loser. You can't always get what you want. Now time to pay up."

Jeremy let his head fall down. He definitely lost.

"What do you have in mind?" asked Jeremy. "Be gentle. This is my first time."

They both giggled.

"I hope you didn't expect it to be that easy," retorted FDR. "I have something in mind. Ultimate payback!"

Jeremy's eyes widened again. He knew better than to play with fire.

"Remember when I asked you if you were a good kisser?"

"Yeah," replied Jeremy slowly.

Jeremy gulped loudly. FDR stared at Jeremy, specifically his face.

"It's not a secret that I'm known for my kissing," FDR started.

Before FDR could continue, Jeremy said, "I don't like where this is going."

"Hey, I had to agree to whatever you wanted me to do. A deal is a deal. Now that you've had your laugh, I can't have mine?"

FDR was definitely doing it for more than just a laugh.

"Whatever," sighed Jeremy. "What are you going to make me do?"

FDR could see Jeremy's hand shaking slightly. He looked like a frightened puppy.

"I'm generous," said FDR. "You have the pick of two options: one-minute lips-on-lips kiss or a 30-second make-out session. Tongue and all."

Jeremy shock his head slowly side to side. He tried to pick the lesser of two evils.

"We haven't got all night," said FDR impatiently.

"Hang on a second," spewed Jeremy.

It didn't take a psychic for FDR to know that Jeremy was cringing at his dilemma.

A few more seconds passed.

"Alright," said Jeremy. "I've made up my mind. I want to get this over with, so I'll pick the 30-second option."

"Good choice."

"Whatever, dude. Let's get this over with."

"Well close your eyes. I'll initiate everything. By the way, I expect the same enthusiasm I gave for your dare."

Jeremy closed his eyes and sat upright in the computer chair. FDR walked toward Jeremy and leaned into him. Jeremy let out a slow breath, which moved along FDR's neck.

"Turn your head slightly to your right," commanded FDR.

Jeremy did not hesitate to do so. FDR moved his face within five inches of Jeremy.

"Ready?" whispered FDR as he closed his eyes.

Jeremy simply nodded. FDR gently pressed his lips onto Jeremy's. Then he put more pressure into his kiss. FDR began sucking on Jeremy's bottom lip, which caused Jeremy's lips to part. FDR moved his left hand behind Jeremy's head, pulling it toward him. The head tug was FDR's way of hinting to Jeremy that he need to start getting into it. Jeremy must have gotten the hint because he started sucking on FDR's top lip. This made goosebumps cover FDR's entire body. As they moved their heads side to side while exchanging small kisses, FDR slowly inched his tongue into Jeremy's mouth. FDR breathed Jeremy into him, which was interrupted when Jeremy entangled his tongue with FDR's. This was heaven to FDR, who let out a slight moan. Jeremy opened his eyes and pulled away from the kiss.

"What are you doing?" asked FDR.

"Time's up," responded Jeremy.

"Nope, I—I mean, _we_ still have ten seconds."

Jeremy rolled his eyes and then closed them before going back to kissing. FDR reached under Jeremy's shoulders to pull him out of the chair.

"Um, what?" asked Jeremy.

"I'm making these last seconds memorable...for you."

FDR giggled and pulled Jeremy into him. Jeremy closed his eyes once more and pressed his lips against his seducer. FDR's hands moved up and down Jeremy's back. FDR could feel Jeremy relaxing into arms, and FDR didn't want this intimate moment to end. Sadly it did, and Jeremy slowly pulled away.

They both opened their eyes and stared at each other for a few seconds. FDR gave a slight smile. Jeremy tried to return the smile but he was overcome by embarrassment and regret. FDR was not oblivious to this, so he decided to break the tension.

"Well, um, that was interesting," started FDR. "Is that the first time you've kissed a guy."

Jeremy seemed to be elsewhere because he didn't respond to FDR's question.

"Are you okay?" inquired FDR.

"Yeah," replied Jeremy quickly. "That was just...weird. You aren't going to tell anyone about this, are you?"

"Of course not. Don't worry. I wouldn't want anyone to know about the lap dance I gave you either."

"Cool. Well, I'm stinky. I'm going to shower. I really need to get out of these clothes."

"Sure. It's pretty late, so the restroom should be free."

Jeremy gathered himself clean clothes and headed to the restroom. FDR decided to take a bath right after Jeremy. While he waited, FDR sat upon his bed and reflected over what just happened. It was like a dream come true. No matter how much he tried to fight it, FDR could not shake off his grin.

It was finally FDR's turn to turn to take a bath. Jeremy didn't even look at FDR when he walked back into his room. FDR didn't think anything of it and headed to the restroom. He expected to find Jeremy still awake after he got out of the shower, but he was sleeping at the side of his bed on the floor. That seemed odd to FDR. They always shared a bed, though it was always head-to-feet. FDR tried to shake Jeremy awake to tell him that he should get up on the bed. Jeremy simply groaned at being awoken.

"I'm comfortable down here," said Jeremy half-asleep. "Just give me a pillow and blanket."

"Whatever floats your boat."

FDR did as Jeremy asked and eventually got comfortable in his bed.

"Goodnight," whispered FDR.

There was no response.

_He must be asleep, _thought FDR.

He too then drifted off to sleep.

That morning Jeremy woke up early, packed up and left while FDR slept. This was just the beginning of the guilt Jeremy felt over what happened that night. The football season was over so Jeremy didn't bump into FDR often. He also made it a point to cancel his weekend practice sessions with FDR. Hormones may have been prominent that night, but FDR was not delusional about what that night would bring. But he did expect something more to come from that night. Maybe not a boyfriend, because that would not be tolerated by his parents or friends, but just someone who was not scared of getting wild during a _harmless_ game of Truth or Dare. He did notice that Jeremy was slowly ignoring him. During the chances that he actually did talk to Jeremy, FDR would ask him if anything was wrong, but every time Jeremy simply said nothing was wrong and that he was just busy. FDR found that odd because not too long ago Jeremy was determined to become next year's quarterback.

A few weeks passed from that incredible night (for FDR) and an interesting coincidence shed light on an interesting issue. The coach of the football team was pretty close to FDR. No surprise there. It also wasn't uncommon for FDR to visit his coach at his home. However, he needed a good enough reason to go all the way to his coach's house when he saw him pretty much every day at school. But this time it was urgent. Both his parents and teachers urged FDR to apply to colleges, even if he wasn't interested. And one of the requirement for his college applications were letters of recommendation. Who better to recommend him than his football coach? FDR decided to pay him a visit on a Saturday, calling before of course, so he could pick up his letter. When he arrived at his coach's house, he knocked at the door. There was no answer, so he decided to ring the doorbell. Still there was no answer. However, he could hear distant sounds of grunting and banging coming from around the house. FDR knew the home pretty well and was acquainted with his wife, so entering the backyard would not be seen as trespassing. FDR made his way through the side gate and walked along the side of the house. The noise became louder the closer he made it to the backyard. The first thing he saw was his coach and then a football fly past him. When FDR finally made it to his coach, he realized the person throwing the football was Jeremy. He didn't tell FDR that he started training elsewhere. And even if it wasn't training, FDR never knew Jeremy visited their coach at his home.

"Mind if I suit up?" asked FDR jokingly but loud enough for both guys to hear.

"Oh, what'sup, bud?" asked his coach. "Oh, that's right, you must be here for that letter. Let me go in and get it."

The coach took off into his house, and FDR and Jeremy were left alone in the backyard. FDR picked up one of the many footballs thrown on the ground and passed it to Jeremy. Jeremy seemed hesitant to return the ball but he did. Back and forth they passed the ball while conversing.

"What are you doing here?" inquired FDR.

"Oh, coach is just giving me a few pointers on what I need to improve on if I want to be trying out for quarterback next year."

"Oh, so he's training you now."

"I guess you could say that. I've only visited him a few times."

FDR raised an eyebrow. How could he not know about this set-up?

"That's cool," said FDR. "So when are we going to hang out? I feel like its been forever."

"Um, I'm not sure," responded Jeremy. "Remember Cindy? Well she and I have been going out. I actually haven't been seeing a lot of my friends lately, so don't take it personally."

"Cindy?" spewed FDR. "I thought you said you didn't like her?"

"Well, I didn't, but now I do. People change, FDR. Some people grow closer and some people drift apart."

FDR couldn't help but feel that he was in the category of drifting apart.

"Alright, well I'm happy for you."

Jeremy gave FDR a small smile and then returned his stern look.

"When you're free, let me know," propositioned FDR. "Bring Cindy, of course. Maybe we can double-date."

"Sure. I'll keep that in mind."

The coach returned to the backyard with a paper in hand. He handed it to FDR. Jeremy and the coach returned to their training.

"Well, I'll see y'all later," said FDR.

The two simply waved. FDR headed back to the side of the house and out the side gate. Whatever issues or doubts he had before with Jeremy were gone now. FDR was hopeful that he would see him again and that maybe this "training" was the true reason Jeremy was not talking to him.

Months came and gone and FDR did not hear a single word from Jeremy. He was no fool. He knew their friendship was over. And he knew exactly why: the kiss and the dance. Well, mostly the kiss. Even Jeremy had to admit that he brought the naughty dance upon himself. FDR felt so stupid. In that moment, his libido took over and made him delusional to the fact that Jeremy did not find men as fascinating as FDR. And all desires come with a price. FDR lost his friend...that one person who gave him his first man-on-man kiss—even if it was based on a dare. However, even FDR had to admit that this could be worse. Jeremy could have gone around telling people about what happened that night, but he didn't. He probably did that more for his sake than to protect the secrets of that night. FDR graduated that year friendless. Well, not friendless per se, but it sure felt like it. His "feelings" for Jeremy left him humiliated. That was it for FDR. Never again, so he vowed that he would never put his desires out there like that again. That night may have been experimental for FDR (and maybe even romantic), but that bond with Jeremy was something that could be replaced. And if FDR were to ever give his heart, it would have to be for the right person—someone who could reciprocate. Yes, FDR currently held an infatuation with Tuck, but he also feared that infatuation would lead him on the same path of regret and loss. Some things were better left unsaid...even if they are eating you up inside.


	5. Chapter 5: Walking Fantasy

Over the next three weeks Tuck remained truthful to his promise, and he was beyond dedicated to fulfilling it. FDR wasn't incapable of doing anything, yet Tuck insisted on doing everything for him. Even the simplest of tasks, like getting a glass of water, resulted in FDR being pushed back down onto his bed while Tuck retrieved it for him. Eventually, Tuck's dedication led him to spending the night at FDR's place many times out of the week. No matter how much FDR tried to hide his enthusiasm for the situation, he really did like having Tuck in his apartment. Also, Tuck liked to sleep shirtless on the couch, which always gave FDR an incentive to wake up early. FDR knew that he had a fit body, but he couldn't stop himself from glancing at Tuck's not-over-done muscle definition.

FDR had a bare chest, but Tuck had a reasonable set of chest hair that extended from his pecs toward his collar bone. If that wasn't mesmerizing enough, Tuck had two tattoos. One was above his left pectoral and the other traveled from his lower-right abdominal area and wrapped around to his right oblique. FDR just had to admit that his typical idea of a bromance was definitely something more...or at the very least a friendship based on lust. Well, from FDR's end it sure seemed like that.

The final week of FDR's recover could not come soon enough. Despite his doctor's insistence to rest, FDR continued to work out at home to make sure that his body was ready for action. Sometimes it felt like Tuck was FDR's at-home doctor because even he didn't let FDR engage in his favorite past-time: kick-boxing. Luckily for FDR, Tuck had spent so much time at this place that he started to catch on as to what to say or do to manipulate Tuck. Usually protesting would get Tuck to allow FDR to expose himself to reckless behavior. But for the most serious issues, FDR had to pull out all the stops. When Tuck responded with his soon-to-be-infamous "no," FDR's eyes would widened as if Tuck said something horrible. Then, FDR would droop his eyes toward the floor and tilt his head like a child denied candy at the grocery store. This may seem petty or even silly, but FDR knew that child-like behavior definitely made Tuck pay attention. In fact, Tuck had a son, and adored him more than anything. Little did he know, but Tuck made it too easy for FDR to learn how to work him.

The day was finally here. FDR got his cast removed and he couldn't be happier to get the itchy plaster off of his leg. Luckily for FDR, the doctor noted that his leg healed up well and was even more functional than he expected. Despite the praise, FDR was glad to finally have mobility, but he would need to have a few weeks of therapy before returning to the agency. Also, his cuts were healing up nicely, which would come in handy for beach season. However, he wouldn't mind having a "manly scar" on his torso. It would make him seem more rugged, well at least that is what he thought.

Despite his persistence, Tuck was not invited to FDR's appointment. It's not that FDR didn't want Tuck there; FDR just wanted to make a grand entrance to show off his now-functioning leg. Tuck begrudgingly agreed and instead past the time by buying cases of beer, a few bottles of liquor, and finger foods for the post-recovery party he insisted FDR needed. Tuck also invited a few agents to come over to FDR's place later that night to celebrate a speedy recovery. Not a surprise, FDR wasn't really excited about having his apartment full of people. He would have preferred to have fun with just Tuck. If anything, Tuck was the closest thing to a friend FDR has had in a long time, so it was understandable for FDR to just want a quiet night in his apartment. Oddly enough, Tuck was a party animal, so a quiet night was not going to happen. FDR had to accept that. Well, he didn't have to, but if he wanted to continue spending time with Tuck, he sure as hell was going to have to abide by pretty much whatever Tuck demanded. But it wasn't all bad for FDR. Tuck kept FDR on his toes with his spontaneity.

One of the main reasons Tuck wanted to tag along with FDR to his appointment was because someone needed to be able to push the gas pedal without accidentally pushing on the brakes...with their cast. If FDR drove they would get to their destination the next day. Hence, FDR had to resort to riding in a taxi, both from and to his place. He didn't mind at all, though. He used that free time to plan what he hoped the night would bring for him and Tuck. Also, he devised a few sneaky plans to not only get closer to Tuck but maybe even seeing what lies beneath his fitted jeans.

"Honey, I'm home!" shouted FDR as he barged into his apartment.

Tuck giggled at FDR's remark.

"Hey, how does it feel to have your leg back?" asked Tuck, who was sitting on the couch.

"Not bad, not bad. The doctor just said that I need a few weeks of therapy as well as a few check-ups."

"Is that all?"

"Well, he also said that my leg needs to be massaged daily."

Tuck raised an eyebrow as he exclaimed in confusion, "Really?"

"Nah, I'm just messing with you. I wouldn't want you to try to have your way with me."

"Shut up. Stop fooling around and walk that sexy ass into the shower. The party starts in two hours."

FDR giggled and winked at Tuck. The "sexy ass" remark was the closest thing to flirting FDR had ever experienced with Tuck. After a few weeks at FDR's place, it wasn't a surprise that Tuck began to warm up to him, as well as joke with him like a fraternity brother.

"Why do you care?" asked FDR. "Do I smell like a locker room?"

"Actually you smell worse than that," responded Tuck sarcastically.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah."

Tuck and FDR locked eyes. FDR squinted his eyes.

"Alright, I guess I'll take a shower," said FDR. "I should be out in a few."

FDR broke his gaze with Tuck and began walking to his bedroom. He was out of site as he walked around the corner and down the hallway. Tuck remained on the couch and made himself comfortable. Suddenly, Tuck heard loud footsteps. They were from the sound of someone running down the hallway. Tuck stared at the corner of the hallway. He was confused as to what FDR could be doing. _This was no time to run laps, especially inside your own apartment,_ thought Tuck. Then, in the blink of an eye, a shirtless wild-man zoomed from around the corner and toward Tuck. Naturally Tuck stood up and prepared for combat. But the wild man was no other than FDR.

"What are you doi-," was all Tuck could get out before FDR tackled him to the living room floor.

FDR grabbed Tuck's wrists and pinned them above his head as he straddled Tuck. Tuck was still out of breath from the blow to his stomach to express his confusion.

"Oh, so I smell horrible?" asked FDR smugly. "Then why not enjoy the worst of me?"

FDR's arms remained extended over Tuck's face. Slowly, FDR's left arm was lowered over Tuck's face. Tuck's eyes widened because he realized what was going to happen. FDR's left armpit suddenly descended closer toward Tuck's face. But before the sweaty pit could reach his face, Tuck wrapped his legs around FDR and pushed his hips upward. This weakened FDR's hold on Tuck, and eventually allowed Tuck to flip FDR onto his back. The tables were now turned.

"Dude!" exclaimed Tuck. "You are so gross."

"Aw," teased FDR. "Is the baby going to cry?"

They locked eyes again. FDR tried to wiggle out of Tuck's grasp.

"Oh, I can play rough, cowboy. I just wouldn't want to hurt your precious leg."

Tuck's right leg nudged FDR's right leg to express his dominance in this situation. Tuck should have been paying more attention to FDR instead of praising himself because now FDR had an open window to regain control. FDR slid his hands against his floor and toward his hips. When he had enough room to loosen his grip from Tuck, FDR reached out to Tuck's chest and pushed him back. Tuck lost his balance and fell onto his back, but he continued to counter every attempt FDR made to hold him down. Tuck wrapped his left leg around FDR while pulling him downward by his left arm. Now FDR was lying flat on his stomach while Tuck straddled him from behind. FDR's mind began to race. _Is this really happening? _thought FDR. Little did FDR know, but his body was slowly giving up its fight as Tuck's hands slid down FDR's arms toward his wrists. FDR continued to struggle, mainly to keep up the charade, but he was mainly focused on how Tuck's torso felt along his back. Their sudden movements had each other hyperventilating. FDR could barely make out the muscles that caressed his back after each of Tuck's inhales. Then, FDR felt Tuck's breath against his neck. Goosebumps covered FDR's body.

"Had enough, cowboy?" asked Tuck, whose lips were centimeters away from FDR's left ear. His grip tightened around FDR's wrist.

"Yeah," responded FDR with a hint of defeat in his tone.

FDR began to move with the intention of getting up, but Tuck was not budging.

Into his ear once more, Tuck exclaimed, "Oh, you didn't think it was going to be that easy? Say 'uncle'."

"Okay, now you're talking out your ass. Get off of me."

FDR tried to push himself up, but his attempts were stopped as Tuck twisted FDR's arms behind his back. Despite the upper hand Tuck believe he had, FDR was not giving this situation his all. FDR had to admit that he liked being manhandled. And if that wasn't proof enough, the bulge in FDR's pants would beg to differ.

"You have one more time to say 'uncle'," explained Tuck.

"Well then you're going to be here all night because that's not going to happen," said FDR.

"Alright. You asked for it."

Tuck slowly twisted FDR's hands, causing him to wince in pain.

"I've had worse done to me!" shouted FDR. "And those were international enemies."

Tuck continued to twist his hands. FDR tensed up and groaned in pain.

"This could all end if you admit defeat," said Tuck in a sultry voice. "Just say that one little word."

Tuck gave one last twist, causing FDR to jump in pain.

"Fine! Uncle! Just get off of me."

"See? That wasn't so hard."

Tuck let go of FDR's hands. This turned out to be a bad idea for Tuck. FDR pulled his knees toward his chest before catching his footing. In a quick jump, FDR did a back flip over Tuck's head. As swift as he jumped, FDR had his left arm wrapped around Tuck's waist and his other between his thighs. FDR then lifted Tuck about a foot from the floor before slamming him onto his back. During the sudden change in positions Tuck failed to notice that FDR let his right hand slide slowly and hard against his groin. Tuck may not have been erect, but FDR definitely felt the outline of his penis.

Now, FDR was leaning over Tuck, who seemed to be out of breath from his sudden impact. Tuck was about to rock backward so he could through his legs out and eventually land flat on his feet. However, his movement backward made it easier for FDR to catch Tuck's left leg all while pinning down his right leg. Even trying to roll over onto his side was unsuccessful. Unless Tuck was prepared to engage in hand-to-hand combat, he would have to find another way to get out of this compromising position.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to make you say 'uncle'," said FDR. "I just want you to know that I always end up on top."

FDR laughed while pushing Tuck's left leg away from himself. At this point, FDR's groin was rubbing up against Tuck's. Of course Tuck was focused on the harmless fun. If he was keen on his senses, Tuck would have noticed the lust in FDR's eyes.

"Alright," said Tuck. "Get off me."

"Nah, I actually like you like this."

Tuck giggled.

"Whatever, mate."

FDR felt his bulge grow as Tuck's efforts to break loose caused their groins to grind once more. A red flag went up in FDR's mind. This would be difficult to explain if Tuck noticed what was happening—well, assuming that he really did not know. FDR let go of Tuck's leg and stood up quickly. Tuck was a bit tired from their wrestling, so he extended a hand upward to signal for FDR's assistance. But FDR was nowhere to be seen. Unbeknownst to Tuck, FDR made a dash to his room the moment he stood up. There was no way he was going to let Tuck know that he got excited during their playful show of bravado.

_Friends don't get aroused by each other. Tuck's a good guy. I'm not going to repeat what happened in high school._

Of course those were just his rational thoughts. But sometimes lust overpowers everything. FDR locked the restroom door and began undressing quickly. He hated to admit it, but he felt dirty and guilty about what he just did. The sexual tension—at least from his end—was starting to get out of control. And he just couldn't stand the thought that he was taking advantage of Tuck and their friendship.

FDR originally intended on taking a cold shower, but even he knew that wouldn't dampen his arousal. The warm water fell upon his shoulders and back. FDR closed his eyes and lifted his head so that the shower head could spray his face. He definitely needed the shower, but the arousal still remained. He peered through his clear shower curtain to make sure he was alone despite locking the door earlier. With the coast clear, he began to rub his chest sensually. But the crucial part of this is that the thought of himself touching himself bleed into thoughts of Tuck caressing him from behind. FDR leaned his back and to his left while he embraced these tainted thoughts. FDR imagined Tuck's plump, pink lips gently sucking on his neck. FDR let out a slight moan. One hand remained on his abs while the other ventured downward. FDR needed no stimulation; he was already erect. The palm of his hand followed the length of his cock before encapsulating the head. He continued to touch his entire body while stroking himself with a firm grip. If it wasn't for his restraint, he would have ejaculated within minutes. But he wanted this naught fantasy —_because that is what itshall remain—_to last. FDR moved his head to his other shoulder and traded hands. Now his other hand slowly stroked himself while his free hand ventured to his backside. FDR didn't desire anything too invasive at the moment, so he simply grabbed at his muscular butt cheeks. And when the excitement from ass-play began to subside, he imagined Tuck's hand venturing between his buttocks. His middle finger playfully caressed his hole. But that was about as playful as he was going to get. Only in the presence of the real deal would he be willing to give himself up. And that wasn't in the cards, nor was it going to happen. So FDR continued to stroke himself. He hated being teased by the impending climax so he stroked faster. By this time FDR's body was moving in rhythm, and his hips were moving his cock in and out of his hand. FDR could feel it. His body was tensing up. His free hand moved away from his body and rested against the shower wall. _A few more strokes! A few more strokes!_ And bam! Strings of cum drizzled across the shower wall. FDR moaned while his eyes rolled into the back of his head. The orgasm made him weak and dizzy. It was a deadly combination. He relied on his free hand for support, but he would have to rely on his weakening legs as he was forced to cover his mouth as he continued moaning. He didn't want to stop moaning or gasping for air as he tried to call out Tuck's name. For the next few seconds, he continued to massage his sensitive head and rub his thumb against its cum-covered opening. But as quickly as the climax came, the guilt was sinking back in. FDR let himself recover by resting against the shower wall. His chest expanded and contracted as he came down from his climax. He hadn't had an orgasm that intense in a very long time. Interestingly, he did not feel guilty about reaching climax. He did feel awkward about the thoughts, though. But he would prefer experimenting himself over humiliation and rejection...again.

By the time FDR got dressed and exited his bedroom, Tuck was already setting up for the party. He even bought decorations, which included streamers and party hats. But no matter how much he desired Tuck, FDR was not about to wear a silly party hat. Oh, whom was he kidding? All it took was Tuck giving him a half-smile to leave him sitting in the living room with a beer in one hand and a party hat upon his head. Occasionally he would glare at Tuck, who was in the kitchen preparing food, because he knew he looked silly. But he couldn't help but feel like a kid on their birthday. He wouldn't be surprised if Tuck pulled out a cake from the oven, but FDR wasn't sure he could handle watching Tuck sucking icing off of his fingers. So maybe no cake during this celebration.

It was late in the evening and guests started to arrive. FDR knew every guest, but personal get-togethers weren't his favorite, so he remained confined to the kitchen with Tuck. Tuck insisted that he should have fun at the party while he took care of the drinks, but FDR simply ignored his requests. Well, that definitely changed after a few shots of liquor. Despite FDR's resistance, Tuck insisted on trying to get him to relax. By the tenth shot, FDR was clearing his living room of furniture and blasting his sound system. Tuck couldn't help but laugh as FDR tried to bump-and-grind against all the female agents. No matter how drunk FDR got, he knew this was not how he usually acted, even when he was drunk at a club. Tuck brought out his playful side. Even the agents at the party were surprised to hear about a party at FDR's place. FDR may have had friends, but he kept all social interactions away from his personal spaces, specifically his home. Tuck was changing that, and even FDR had to admit he was liking it.

FDR thought the party was going to start and end at his place, but it seemed that Tuck had other plans. Tuck walked over to the sound system and lowered the music.

"Alright," said Tuck. "Everyone finish your drinks and head outside."

It seemed that everyone but FDR was aware of tonight's plans.

"Where are we going?" asked FDR.

"You'll see," responded Tuck. "Get your coat."

After FDR retrieved his coat, the two were headed out of FDR's apartment complex and into a taxi. FDR wondered where Tuck could be taking him, but his questions were answered when they pulled up outside of one of FDR's favorite clubs, Le Rouge. This club was known for its scantly dressed girls in outfits, such as a French maid, schoolgirl, or dominatrix. FDR liked to call them Walking Fantasies. And for those who did not have interest in the Walking Fantasies, Le Rouge had some of the nation's best DJ's perform there daily. In short, there was something at this club for everyone.

Although he did not remember revealing his liking for this club, FDR settled on the idea that he must have said it passively. Either way, he was thrilled. He had been wanting to party with Tuck, but his cast was obviously preventing that from happening. FDR was lucky if Tuck let him out the house to eat at a restaurant. But there was no budging when it came to "Dr. Tuck."

"Oh, I see it is going to be a crazy night," said FDR. "Don't let me get too crazy."

"I promise I won't, mate," said Tuck.

Tuck walked toward the club entrance and FDR followed. Tuck giggled at the smirk FDR suddenly had on his face. He looked like a kid in a candy store, but FDR's excitement was probably aided by his slight intoxication.

"Where is everyone else?" asked FDR as they past the bouncer. The bouncer didn't stop them because FDR was a regular and also friends with him.

"They're already inside," responded Tuck. "They might even be in the VIP section by now."

FDR didn't say anything but instead smiled. He couldn't believe that Tuck was pulling out all the stops for him. Well, FDR had experienced the VIP area at Le Rouge, but he just thought the night would end with a few drinks near the dance floor as they checked out babes.

The VIP room had a large window overlooking the dance floor, and it also had a personal bar and two stripper poles for the dancers (or anyone who cared to dance for their guests). The music on the dance floor was so loud that it penetrated through their closed-off room so there was no need for a personal sound system. Three provocatively dressed females made their way into the room. Two of the females made their way to the stripper poles and began enticing the male (and some female) agents. The remaining female, perhaps the most beautiful out of the three, headed straight for FDR.

"Care to dance?" asked the woman.

"I-I'm not much of a dancer," responded FDR as he threw a glance at Tuck. FDR knew Tuck had set this up.

The woman smiled. "That's okay. All you have to do is watch and enjoy."

"Um, sure," said FDR, throwing one more glance at Tuck.

FDR was a very confident guy, especially when it came to flirting with women. But he was hesitant in this situation largely due to Tuck's presence. He wanted to spend his first night out with Tuck in the VIP room. If he were with anyone else or perhaps alone, he would have taken the woman's offer in an instant. Also, though he would not confirm it for himself, FDR didn't really find women as interesting as he used to since Tuck had been staying at his place.

"He can come too," said the woman as she pointed at Tuck.

Tuck simply smiled and followed the woman as she pulled FDR out of the VIP room by his hand. She led them to the dance floor and deep into the crowd. She knew the only way these two men would be willing to dance would be if they were secluded from their friends and amongst strangers.

The dance floor was pretty full. FDR scanned the room and caught Tuck's smirk. The female dancer moved closer to FDR and rested her hands on his shoulders. FDR looked at the woman who was now grinding her hips into his. Tuck stayed close by and danced alongside many of the pretty girls and their friends. FDR couldn't concentrate on his personal dancer. His eyes were set on Tuck. It wasn't jealousy, necessarily, but he just didn't like the thought that he and Tuck weren't making advances on the same women together. FDR's lack of attention must have been sensed by his personal dancer because she looked up at him and let go of his shoulders. The sudden lack of dancing broke FDR's trance. He looked back down at the dancer. She was now looking at Tuck, who stood a few steps away.

She looked back at FDR and said, "Oh, I guess you two don't do much without each other."

"Oh, it's not like that," said FDR.

"That's okay. It's kind of kinky. I've always had the hots for guys who liked to tag-team a girl."

FDR's eyes widened. He didn't think of that scenario, but he went with it.

The girl walked away from FDR and toward Tuck. She grabbed Tuck by his right arm and lead him toward FDR. Tuck had a confused look on his face. FDR simply shrugged and smiled. The female was once again chest-to-chest with FDR. Before continuing to dance, she pulled Tuck into her from behind. Tuck didn't say anything but instead started to grind against her. Although Tuck kept his eyes on the girl, FDR couldn't help but watch as Tuck began caressing her body. There must have been something about the way he touched her because now FDR found himself grinding into her. This was probably as close to intimate FDR was ever going to get with Tuck, so he took full advantage of the situation. Suddenly, the dancer grabbed FDR by his shirt and pulled him in closer. FDR followed suit and decided to do what Tuck was doing to her. During some moments FDR's hand would gently rub up against Tuck's hand, but Tuck didn't seem to mind. And naturally this drove FDR crazy. Just like before, the alcohol was probably loosening up his inhibitions, and he was too caught up in the ecstasy to hold back. FDR thought this would be the most fun he would be having for the next few songs, but things began to lean into his favor. The dancer turned around and started to move her hands up and down Tuck's chest. Tuck closed his eyes and embraced her touch. FDR was a little jealous by her current position, but he basked in the pleasure emitting from Tuck's face. FDR then grabbed onto her waist and began grinding into her. This dance was definitely becoming more exciting. Then, in an instant, FDR saw the dancer lean into Tuck's ear and whisper something before kissing on Tuck's neck. Tuck's eyes opened slowly and now they were caught in a lustful gaze with FDR. Tuck winked at FDR before closing his eyes once more. The dancer whispered something into Tuck's ear again and then went back to kissing his neck. Tuck simply nodded and continued filling her up. Suddenly, Tuck's right hand, which was caressing the girl's back, reached out to FDR's shirt. FDR was surprised by the advance, so he naturally pulled away. The crowded dance floor didn't allow FDR much room to move so Tuck's hand inevitably caught onto FDR's shirt. Tuck then pulled FDR forward. In silence, FDR followed the pull of his shirt. The music changed to slow R&B, definitely something more sensual and intimate. When FDR finally found himself closer to the dancer, Tuck let go of FDR's shirt. But instead of returning his hand back to the dancer, as FDR assumed he would, Tuck reached for FDR's side. FDR felt like he forgot how to breath. _Is this really happening? _The dancer and Tuck were still occupied with each other, but that didn't stop her from reaching behind her and making sure FDR was practically chest-to-back with her. Although she returned her hand back onto Tuck's chest, Tuck's hand still remained on FDR's side. But he was no longer gripping his skin. Rather, Tuck's hand slowly pulsed against FDR's shirt. If the subtle hand-touches weren't the last straw for FDR, this definitely was—and FDR definitely took this advance as a personal invitation. FDR continued to bump-and-grind into the dancer, but this time he was more strong-willed with his movements. FDR then looked up at Tuck, whose eyes were still closed, before reaching out his right hand and placing it on Tuck's side. But he was cautious about this attempt. He didn't want Tuck to open his eyes and freak out so he gently caressed Tuck's side before returning his hand to the female's side. Sensing no disagreement with the touch, FDR extended his hand once again, but this time he let his hand linger. Then he gripped at Tuck's side. FDR could outline Tuck's defined obliques with his fingers. This was ecstasy! FDR closed his eyes and took in the moment. He was unconsciously being teased by what he could not have.

The song faded and all three came to an eventual halt. FDR opened his eyes and was surprised to have his gaze met by Tuck's lust-filled eyes. FDR let go of Tuck's side quickly. Tuck twitched his head to his left to signal FDR off the dance floor. FDR nodded and began making his way through the crowd. Sensing he was not being followed, he looked back and noticed the dancer and Tuck engaging in final words. Tuck kissed her cheek before leaving her and joining FDR. FDR smirked as Tuck made his way to him. FDR turned around and had his shoulders greeted by Tuck's hand. FDR could sense the camaraderie with this gesture.

The two made it back to the VIP room, where they discovered that most of their friends had either gone home or decided to have a personal dance with a Walking Fantasy. Tuck could tell FDR was not interested in returning to the dance floor, so they both headed to their personal bar and downed shot after shot.

FDR broke their silence by asking, "Well, that was something, huh?"

"What was?" asked Tuck, who was obviously drunk.

"Our personal dancer," responded FDR.

"Oh, yeah. Her. She was definitely something."

"What was she whispering in your ear?"

Tuck turned to FDR and giggled.

"I'm not sure you want to know, mate."

"Oh, come on. Try me."

"Alright, I'll tell you. One more shot!"

FDR didn't even wait for Tuck to grab his shot before downing his own. He really wanted to know what the dancer told Tuck.

"Ach, that shot went down bad," said Tuck.

FDR stared at Tuck, waiting for his answer.

"So the girl. Well, she was telling me a bit about you."

FDR squinted his eyes as he asked, "What about?"

"She said that you liked tag-teaming a girl."

"Um, I didn't-"

"Then she said that it was one of her fantasies to have two guys feel her up."

"Oh."

"What did she tell you the second time?"

"Oh, well she said that you were too far away from her. She wanted to feel your entire body against her. That's why I pulled you into her. I could tell she liked it because she bit my neck."

Tuck leaned his neck to the side to show his marks.

"It was pretty hot actually," remarked Tuck.

"It sure was."

FDR laughed at looked at his watch. He was interested in the time, but he mainly looked away to hide the jealous look on his face. He wanted his marks to be on his neck, not hers.

"It's getting late," said FDR. "And we need to get a taxi."

"Alright. Just one more shot."

"Alright. Only one more! You can barely stand, anyway."

"Ah, whatever, mate."

Tuck took his last shot and made his way toward the door. FDR could see Tuck struggling to maintain his balance.

"Need help there?" asked FDR.

"I got it, mate!"

"Alright. Whatever you say."

The last few shots were definitely affecting both of them because they were practically falling asleep in the taxi. Fortunately for them, they were still capable of communicating with the driver. The driver pulled up to FDR's apartment complex. It may have taken a while, but the two eventually made it up the stairs and toward FDR's apartment. They drunkenly waltzed into the apartment. Tuck started to strip off his coat and eventually his button-down shirt.

"I'm unbelievably tired, mate," said Tuck as he flopped down onto the couch. "Ugh. Sorry to tell you this, but your coach is not comfortable to sleep on."

"Then come sleep in my bed."

FDR could not believe how easily he said that.

"Nah, I'm good," responded Tuck.

"No, no. You're drunk, so you're going to sleep funny and wake up sore. Just sleep in my bed for one night."

"Alright. Alright. I'll meet you in a few minutes."

FDR walked to his bedroom quickly and turned on the lamp on his nightstand. He knew nothing was going to happen, yet he stripped down to his boxers as if anticipating sex.

Tuck then stumbled into the room.

"Which side of the bed are you taking?" asked Tuck.

"The left side."

"Cool."

Tuck made his way to the right side of the bed. FDR was already comfy underneath the covers. He appeared to be slowly falling asleep, but in reality he was trying to calm his rapidly beating heart. It didn't help that he could hear Tuck undo his belt buckle and eventually dropping his pants to the floor. FDR sneaked a peek through his left eye so as to catch a glimpse of Tuck without him noticing. He wouldn't have to worry about being caught, though, because Tuck struggled with taking off his undershirt. FDR had seen Tuck's body before, so his eyes went directly to Tuck's groin. He was wearing blue boxer-briefs. Tuck's struggle to take of his shirt resulted in him shaking his way out of it. This made Tuck's flaccid cock flap against his underwear. FDR clenched his fists and licked his lips at the site of it. Tuck finally pulled the shirt off his head and threw it onto the floor where his pants lied. FDR closed his left eye and turned onto his side. Tuck climbed into bed, and now only a foot separated FDR and Tuck's nether regions. FDR wasn't sure his drunk self would be able to sleep that night. The alcohol definitely unleashed his primitive desire to pounce on Tuck. Sadly (yet reluctantly) for FDR, his guilt of the situation would prevent him from acting on his desires.

Tuck snored loudly as he drifted into a deep sleep. FDR remained awake with his fantasies. However, the alcohol took one last jab at his consciousness and forced him to sleep. Sleeping was the easy part for FDR, but waking up sober with a nearly naked Tuck would be a challenge for him. He didn't want to make a habit of it, but he knew another shower session was needed in the morning.

***I apologize for the hiatus. I have been busy. I felt bad about not keeping up with this fanfiction, so I made it extra long and added something juicy to quench your heart's desires. I hope you enjoyed it***


	6. Chapter 6: Tylenol

The morning sun illuminated FDR's bedroom. There were two windows in his room, one of which was next to his side of the bed. The light peaking through the blinds landed on his closed eyelids. FDR and Tuck had nothing to do that morning, but the sun was not going to let them sleep in. The room became brighter as the sun rose, and even the thickness of FDR's blanket wasn't enough to shield him from the sun's rays.

FDR groaned and slowly opened his eyes. He felt warmer than usual, and attributed it to the sun's warmth. He also felt like his bed was crowded. He was surprised to see that Tuck had ventured to his side of the bed, some time during the night, and was now cuddling alongside him. If that wasn't enough to shock FDR, Tuck's left arm lied across FDR's chest and pulled in at his side. FDR's breathing steadied as he analyzed the situation. He remembered drinking with Tuck and both of them falling asleep, but he couldn't recall when Tuck made himself more comfortable. Needless to say, FDR liked their current state. Tuck's touch gave FDR goosebumps. FDR peered back and forth from Tuck's sleeping face to his outstretched arm. His mind raced with numerous questions.

_Did I make a move? Did Tuck make a move? Did I do this myself? Did we have sex?!_

The sunlight must have affected Tuck the same way it did FDR because now he groaned in his sleep. FDR panicked. He did not want Tuck to wake up to this conundrum. FDR knew that he wouldn't be able to explain it. Also, thought FDR, Tuck would probably freak! Luckily for FDR, Tuck was not waking up, but instead changing to a more comfortable position. Tuck now lied on his back. FDR exhaled a sigh of relief, but he quietly whined at the lack of Tuck's touch.

FDR had a slight headache from last night's partying. He wasn't quite ready to get out of bed, so he stared at the ceiling for a few minutes. He tried to break down what just happened, but he couldn't. He knew Tuck didn't fancy guys. Well, he never came out and said that, but FDR never sensed a hint of homoerotic tension from Tuck. He finally settled on the situation being an accident. But whether or not it was an accident, FDR, who was now sober, was now prey to his fantasies. His eyes ventured to his left. Tuck remained asleep, but he must of moved again because he was now on his right side. FDR analyzed Tuck's face. He was mesmerized by Tuck's chiseled cheekbones and jawline. When his eyes ventured to Tuck's lips, he paused at the site. FDR licked his lips and imagined all the things he wanted to do to them. His heart ached slightly. He inhaled deeply and exhaled loudly. He knew he would never taste Tuck's plump, pink lips. But he could fantasize about them, and that is exactly what he continued to do.

FDR checked out both men and women. But the main difference between the two is that FDR could be blatant about his love for females. However, if people even suspected that FDR desired men sexually, he knew they would treat him differently. And even if they didn't, his guilt about his desires would be enough to keep him from being open about his feelings. But sexual frustration continued to knock at his door. So whenever he was at the agency's gym or even in the locker room, he was sure to note his surroundings. He had to be sneaky if he wanted to take a peek of the half-naked bodies and bulging muscles of his fellow agents. And just like then, FDR looked around the room and peered out of his windows. Although he lived on the third floor, he still felt like someone could peep through his blinds.

FDR moved slowly out of his bed and towards his door, which remained opened since last night. He then closed the blinds in his bedroom. The room remained illuminated by the light that penetrated around and in-between the blinds. Now he tip-toed back to his bed, sliding swiftly under his blanket and close to Tuck. FDR felt wrong about the situation, though he persisted. It wasn't like he was molesting Tuck in his sleep—he just wanted to be able to _look_ at Tuck for once without worrying about being caught. FDR's eyes ventured back to Tuck's lips. FDR licked his lips again. If lust wasn't already coursing through his body, FDR could also feel butterflies in his stomach. Being an agent endowed him with nerves of steel, but it wasn't everyday that FDR was exploring desires that have been locked away since high school. Tuck moved onto his back. The sudden movement caused FDR to return his gaze to the ceiling. He remained motionless for a few seconds before looking back at Tuck, who was still asleep. FDR was somewhat happy that Tuck drank a lot last night because Tuck was unaware of the eyes upon his half-naked body. But FDR wasn't completely happy. He subconsciously hoped that Tuck would wake up and break FDR out of his trance. FDR was aware of the saying, "Don't play with fire because you might get burned." He definitely neither wanted to get burned, nor did he want to incinerate their friendship. He closed his lust-filled eyes and fought the temptation for the next few minutes. At one point he thought he was safe from his libido, but his eyes widened as he felt his penis grow in size. He would have been oblivious to his erection of it weren't for the feeling of his underwear against the head of his penis.

FDR was now at a crossroads. He could either get up and take another "warm shower," or venture down a path of temptation and danger. FDR tried not to act on his arousal. He considered letting himself enjoy this moment and never partaking in it again, but deep down he knew he would become more bold with his sexually driven advances. The ecstasy of the moment became too much for him. He took in another deep breath before turning onto his left side. FDR could hear his rapidly beating heart in his ears. He was unbelievably nervous, but his excitement overpowered all other emotions. In fact, he felt guiltless about the situation, and he had to be if he was going to treat Tuck like he had never seen or felt another body before.

_Here goes nothing._

FDR made sure Tuck was still asleep even though Tuck continued to snore. He nudged him slightly to sense any reaction to his touch.

"Are you awake, Tuck?" whispered FDR into Tuck's ear. He didn't respond.

Now FDR extended his right hand and pulled down the covers that rested against Tuck's chest. He released the covers once Tuck's blue boxer-briefs were visible. Tuck seemed to not respond to the cool air from FDR's ceiling fan. FDR took that as a safe sign to continue his naughty endeavor. FDR looked at Tuck's lips once more before moving his sights to Tuck's neck. The dancer's bite marks were not as visible as they were the night before, but it still displeased FDR. Now his eyes moved to Tuck's collarbone. FDR liked how Tuck's chest hair didn't extend beyond that. The chest hair did cover Tuck's pecs, yet he his nipples were bare. Gosh, how he wanted to touch his chest so badly. The excitement was so intense that FDR had to reach down into his underwear and fix himself. His raging erection was positioned uncomfortably against his leg, so he lifted his penis so that it now peaked above his waistband and rested against his belly. That was definitely a bad idea! He shouldn't have touched himself. He only meant to make himself comfortable, but his body responded as if he were teasing it.

FDR wanted nothing more than to climb onto Tuck. He wanted to kiss Tuck awake, or at least suck upon his neck and mark what he wished could be his. FDR's libido was now out of control. As if taken over by a ghostly force, FDR extended his right hand and placed it on Tuck's chest. He couldn't believe he did that. Out of fear, he immediately looked at Tuck to make sure he was still asleep. Tuck was still snoring, fortunately. Tuck's left eyebrow jumped, possibly in response to FDR's touch, but that was about the most _awake_ Tuck appeared to be at the moment. Assuming the coast was clear, FDR returned his sight back to his right hand, but he made sure to keep an eye on Tuck through his peripheral vision. FDR's touch was gentle. He bent his fingers and twirled them around Tuck's chest hair. Sensing no disturbance by his touch, FDR moved his hand across Tuck's pecs. He even gave one a gentle squeeze. He bit his lip as he felt the muscules that lied beneath Tuck's skin. He wanted to feel more of Tuck. And that is exactly what he did. FDR propped himself up on his left hand and scooted closer to Tuck. His right hand returned to Tuck's chest and slowly inched down to Tuck's abs. FDR began making figure-eight patterns around the muscles that made up Tuck's abs. Reminiscing on last night, FDR sat up and placed both of his hands on Tuck's torso. He moved them to Tuck's obliques and gently caressed his fingers along his defined muscles. There was definitely a plus from being sober: keen senses. FDR was feeling parts of Tuck that he didn't feel at the club. In his defense, a button-down shirt and undershirt were separating FDR's curious hands from Tuck's body.

After a few more seconds of touching, FDR stopped himself. He could not go beyond that. He may be overtaken by lust, but he wasn't incapable of discriminating against (somewhat) acceptable and wrong thoughts. He would not let himself give in and feel for what lied beneath Tuck's blue boxer-briefs. FDR decided to excuse himself to his shower to partake in a "warm shower," but his eyes darted swiftly to Tuck's underwear. Perhaps it was from FDR's touch or Tuck's current dream (if he was having one), but Tuck sported a semi-hard erection. FDR looked away. The temptation was growing stronger, so FDR lied back onto his side of the bed and closed his eyes. Now guilt was rearing its ugly face. He couldn't believe how far he had taken his exploration. As his mind raced with thoughts of guilt and arousal, it appeared excitement was still pulling strong.

FDR pulled his blanket over himself. He then placed his hands on the blanket and over his groin. Tuck remained asleep and still exposed. FDR looked at the sleeping agent as he bent his knees and planted his feet flat on his bed. FDR then rubbed his hands against his groin.

_Just this once. I promise I won't do it again. Just let me have this moment._

FDR moved his hips rhythmically upward against his hands and arms. He did want to stroke himself underneath the blanket, but the feeling of cloth against his cock amplified his current fantasy. FDR imagined Tuck straddling him, his hips grinding into his. He wanted Tuck to take his hands like before and pin them down above his head. FDR's left hand now caressed his chest, resulting in a light moan. FDR tensed up quickly. He was definitely caught up in the moment because he wouldn't have moaned knowing that Tuck was inches away from him.

A few seconds later FDR finally relaxed. Tuck continued to snore, so FDR continued to touch himself. But like his shower session, he hated being teased, so he reached under the covers. He knew he didn't have time to continue teasing himself, and he was going to reach his climax one way or another. FDR pulled his boxer-briefs down to his knees and began stroking himself. He wasn't in the mood for starting slow so he jerked at a steady pace, but not too rapidly so as to cum within the next minute.

FDR was in heavenly bliss. Each and every stroke felt better than the last, and the pleasure was even surpassing the climax he experienced in yesterday's shower. Many times he felt like he was going to ejaculate, but he played along the sensitivity of his head to stall himself.

Luckily Tuck remained asleep because FDR was becoming sloppy about his discretion. As FDR continued to stroke himself, he moaned more and more. Even his breathing changed to a rapid rate. FDR could tell his body could only take a few more strokes before he had to release himself. He arched his back upward and pushed his head into his pillow. He could feel it.

_Ah, yeah, Tuck. Harder. Right there!_

Tuck groaned, causing FDR to immediately stop mid-stroke. He turned his head slowly toward Tuck, who appeared to be slowly waking up.

_Shit! Not now!_

But it was too late. Tuck was waking up. FDR cursed quietly to himself. He knew he was being too loud. As if in a day dream, FDR had to return to reality. He reached for his underwear and pulled them up quickly. His actions went unnoticed as Tuck's eyes flickered open and his muscular arms stretched above his head.

"Damn, my head hurts," groaned Tuck, resting his right arm over his face.

FDR didn't entertain his statement. He was too caught up in making sure there was nothing incriminating to hint at what happened a few minutes ago.

"Mate, what time is it?"

FDR could barely make out what Tuck was saying through a groggy morning voice.

"Huh?" asked FDR.

"The time," said Tuck flatly.

FDR was still hard, and now suffering from Blue Balls, so he made sure the blanket still covered him as he reached for his cellphone on the nightstand.

"Um, it's 10:13 a.m.," said FDR.

"Ugh. I drank way too much last night. Do you have any Tylenol? My head is throbbing."

A few seconds passed before FDR responded,"Oh, yeah, there should be some in my medicine cabinet in the restroom."

FDR watched Tuck get out of the bed and walk around the bed. FDR was not checking out Tuck, but rather gawking suspiciously as if Tuck knew what FDR had been doing a few minutes ago. He could also tell that this frightening moment did not immediately shut off his libido because he noted how great Tuck's ass looked in his underwear. The thought registered, but so did his thought to get rid of of his boner. So, FDR began thinking about dead relatives, cute animals, and other non-sexual images to get rid of his hard-on.

"Mate, my head is hurting too much to find them," said Tuck. "Can you get it for me?"

FDR had to process his current state before responding. Luckily his penis was now flaccid. His fear of being caught with a semi definitely killed his arousal.

"Sure. I'll be right in."

FDR checked once more that he was no longer excited, and that pre-cum stains weren't visible on his underwear. With everything back to the way it was, FDR got off the bed and walked to the restroom. But when FDR arrived, Tuck was nowhere to be seen. FDR was about to turn around to see if Tuck had ventured back into the bedroom or down the hallway, but he stopped in his tracks when he heard the shower turn on. FDR's eyes widened. He could not face Tuck's naked body right now, especially when his underwear left very little to the imagination. Bit by bit he turned around. He glanced at the restroom mirror to prepare himself, but there was nothing to be seen but the reflection of abandoned underwear on the toilet seat. It appeared that Tuck had undressed and stepped into the shower before FDR stepped into the bathroom, so FDR breathed a sigh of relief.

Steam towered over the shower curtain while FDR searched through the medicine cabinet. Although the Tylenol bottle sat before his eyes, he remained oblivious as his mind could not fathom that in about three feet from where FDR stood, Tuck hands covered his naked body in suds.

"Found it," said FDR. "I'll leave the bottle on the sink."

"I need it now," responded Tuck. "Just give it here. I can take it with the shower water."

FDR hesitated. It was as if Tuck were teasing FDR. It also didn't help that his shower curtain was clear. Tuck wasn't plastered against the curtain, but FDR could make out the faintest appearance of skin and curvature of Tuck's ass.

After fidgeting with the bottle, FDR finally shook out two pills. His mind was still elsewhere because he almost walked out of the restroom to get Tuck a glass of cold water.

_What are you doing? Just give him his pills and get out of there!_

FDR moved quickly toward the shower curtain.

"Here you go."

He was about to extend his hand a few inches into the shower curtain, but he was greeted by Tuck's hand. Tuck pulled the shower curtain open a few inches. FDR almost forgot how to breath as he saw Tuck's drenched face. Numerous water droplets traveled along his bicep and toward his pec. FDR's gaze was broken when Tuck took the pills out of his hand. Tuck immediately swallowed them. Tuck was about to thank FDR but he was nowhere to be found. Instead, Tuck thanked an empty restroom and returned to his shower.

However, FDR didn't venture far. He stood with his back against the wall that was to the left of his restroom door. His breathing was irregular. You could see the dilemma in his mind on his face. It was here again: guilt. And stronger than ever.

_How could you do that? Not only were you almost caught, but you actually touched your friend in his sleep. He doesn't want you! He never would want you! Stop now and leave him alone!_

FDR was on the verge of crying. He could feel his heart ache and his throat swell. He had to be done if he wanted to keep himself and his secret safe. And that of course meant that Tuck had to go...but maybe not so soon.


	7. Chapter 7: Weights

FDR inhaled deeply, his back still resting against his bedroom wall. He extended his hands toward his face and wiped his cheeks to make sure he wasn't actually crying. He then walked to the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water. The sounds of crashing water from the shower down the hall reassured him that Tuck was still showering. FDR was now capable of collecting his thoughts. He couldn't (and didn't want to) be in the apartment. Seeing Tuck's glistening body wasn't the only problem. FDR felt like his guilt was written all over his face—an open book for Tuck to read at FDR's expense. It was one thing to ruin their friendship, which FDR desperately wanted to avoid, but FDR could not face this incident spreading throughout the agency. He was FDR: ladies man and top agent. He loved his job and the admiration that came with it, but now it was time for damage control.

Until now, FDR was secretive about his feelings. It wasn't until recently that he was getting sloppy. He needed time to thinkand also to work off his frustration. He couldn't just lie on his bed and stare at the ceiling; Tuck was still in his restroom!He thought about immediately jumping into the shower once Tuck got out, but that would mean their paths would have to cross. Suddenly, his apartment went silent. Squeaks from turning shower faucets could be heard. FDR had to figure something out quickly.

_Starbucks? No. The grocery store? No. Bingo! The gym!_

He had about five minutes to get his stuff together while Tuck dried himself off. He ran to his room and began searching for his gym bag until he realized that he was still in his boxers from the night before. He was limited on time, so he decided to put on his gym clothes instead. Searching for basketball shorts, a shirt, and a pair of socks in his dresser was easy. But as the minutes passed, he began to panic and as a result started slamming his drawers shut. The clash of wood on wood echoed throughout the room. FDR was definitely not being coy about being in a hurry.

"Is everything okay out there, mate?" asked FDR.

FDR froze in his tracks. His eyes shifted from his tennis shoes, which lied next to his bedroom door, to the restroom door. Tuck was talking through the door. Fortunately for FDR, Tuck was not done in the restroom.

"Yeah," responded FDR. "I'm just getting a few things."

"Are you going somewhere?"

"I'm going to the gym," said FDR. "I'll be back later."

"You're up for a workout after last night? Wow. I need time to recover."

"Well I didn't have as much as you had. Don't wait up for me."

FDR grabbed his gym bag and reached for his phone on the night stand. He then picked up his tennis shoes and exited his bedroom. Tuck had said one more thing, but FDR was too focused on getting out of his apartment to even notice. He didn't even lock his door, though he reached for his keys. It also didn't even dawn on him how quickly he was moving until the smooth soles of his socks caused him to lose balance on his apartment's metal stairs.

_Just get to the car! Just get to the car! Everything will be better soon._

In a matter of seconds FDR entered his personal garage and stepped into his car. He immediately pushed his garage button on his car keys before starting up the engine. The moment the garage door was almost open, FDR revved up the engine and backed out. Although he was fleeing home, a place he once felt safe in, he felt like he was now seeking a new sanctuary. His face may have been covered in guilt before, but now it was mostly covered in fear. He did encounter fearful events as an agent, but this kind of fear had been foreign to him since high school. And now he was worried about where this fear would lead him.

FDR pulled in slowly into a parking spot near the gym entrance. The gym had large windows, which allowed FDR to take an estimate of how many occupants were in the building. The gym was practically empty, a surprise to him around this time, but he didn't immediately get out of his car. He put on his shoes, pocketed his phone and headphones, and took a few deep breaths. He questioned bringing in his gym bag, but that would involve him stopping by the locker room. The fewer people he had to talk to the better. He usually worked out at the agency, but he liked having a gym membership because it allowed him to escape the craziness of this time he was more distracted than usual. He didn't even greet the girl at the front desk who was overly fond of FDR. Rather, he punched in his electronic pin and headed toward the treadmills. He was practically running away from home, so he triedto kill that urge before he made a habit of it.

The treadmill started at a smooth 4 miles per hour. Once his heart rate was up, FDR increased his speed to 7 mph. He was content on staying at that speed for the next 45 minutes to an hour, but he needed a stronger distraction as his thoughts continued to fade back to Tuck. His mind was filled with innocent questions at first, such as, "I wonder if Tuck got something to eat?" or "Did Tuck go home after his shower?" But then his mind began to drift.

_I wonder if he smells__like my body wash? He didn't do laundry, so would he be wearing my clothes? My underwear?!_

FDR was now lost in his thoughts. His heart beat even picked up, proving that his thoughts were much more active than hisactual running. But the sudden tingle in his groin somewhat brought him back down to earth.

"No," said FDR, shaking his head and squeezing his eyes shut. It took a second for him to realize that he actually said that out loud. He looked around him to make sure he didn't surprise anyone with his sudden outburst. After realizing his words went unnoticed, he became angry with himself. FDR couldn't believe where he was now, both physically and figuratively. He _actually_ ran out of his house. He hadn't run away from anything in his life—even after his high school incident. Well, it wasn't exactly an _accident_ because he only regretted the outcome. But this time, he regretted everything he did to Tuck.

For the next few minutes on the treadmill, FDR tried to find any type of justification for his actions. But every thought failed to give him solace. He ultimately settled on himself being weak. Even that admission left a bitter taste in his mouth. How could he be weak? He was ruthless, the agent who would devour anything in his path. But now, he was being devoured by his libido. That was something a teenager faced not a grown man, thought FDR.

If the past 30 minutes had a silver lining, it would be that FDR had just completed three-and-a-half miles on the treadmill. The treadmill beeped to signal that he had reached his halfway mark out of the hour. FDR looked down with a surprised look on his face. He had never heard the treadmill make that noise. That was probably because he always ran with headphones. FDR was definitely elsewhere mentally because he failed to put on any music. His phone and headphones were still in his pocket, so he reached in and retrieved the two items. To prevent himself from tripping, he paused the treadmill. Yes, he was a skilled and talented agent who had trekked through ruins and jungles. But as of right now, he was not at his prime. The speeding mat came to a slow halt, allowing FDR to put in his headphones properly. The cord dangled in front of him as he reached for the connecting end. He was about to plug the end into his phone when his screen lit up with a text message, which based on its time of delivery, was received a few minutes ago. The friction of his phone in his pocket against his thigh countered the vibration of his phone, so he didn't sense the incoming message at all. Nevertheless, FDR had set up his phone to provide him with a preview of a text message so he could prioritize their importance. The text was from Tuck, and the preview read: **I need to talk to you. I saw something odd this morning. Call me...**

FDR stood frozen on the treadmill. He even slowed his breathing. It wasn't until his body yearned for oxygen that he finally took in a deep breath. His eyes remained focused on the phone screen as he swallowed hard. It appeared that his mouth had gone completely dry, and now he was hyperventilating. Paranoia was kicking in.

_Oh God! I've been busted! _

FDR didn't dare unlock his phone to read the rest of the message. He assumed the worst. Instead, he plugged in his headphones and activated his music without unlocking his phone. He blasted the first song that played and started up the treadmill once more. By the time he put his phone back into his pocket, he was back at 7 mph. But even the sudden change in speed couldn't keep his head from spinning.

_Has Tuck noticed the way I look at him? Did he wake up because he knew what I was doing?! _

His worry continued to grow, so he increased the speed of the treadmill to 9 mph and set the incline at 3 feet. If he didn't break a sweat before, he definitely was now. He knew he missed up big time. He could only imagine the earful he would receive when he returned home.

_Maybe I can just ride it out here for a few hours. Maybe he'll leave on his own._

But even FDR couldn't believe that. Tuck had been staying at his place for almost a month, so he could easily camp out until FDR got home. And even if FDR stayed out late, he knew he couldn't sneak past Tuck. He could be on the couch or in his bed. Either way, it was definitely a con having a secret agent as a best friend. Tuck would wake at the instant the front door open, and FDR would be bombarded with numerous questions.

FDR was about to pass out from his extreme run when the treadmill timer saved him. His hour was up. Thankfully FDR was stopped because he would have continued running, possibly resulting in a major injury. Don't think he was above that either. He actually contemplated getting seriously hurt to the point that he was back in the hospital. Then, he thought, Tuck would feel bad for him and forget anything ever happened. But even that was a stretch, so he didn't risk hurting his recently healed leg permanently.

He almost lost his footing when he stepped off the treadmill. The last thirty minutes of his run left his legs feeling like spaghetti. He may have been in shape, but his recent absence from the gym and work put a damper on his stamina. FDR looked around the gym to make sure nobody was paying attention to his weak state or perhaps his sudden attempt to beat the treadmill. He looked back at the treadmill to make sure that he wasn't forgetting anything. His music was distracting him from even doing that simple task, so he paused his music and pulled out his headphones. FDR knew something was off, but he couldn't put his finger on it at first. Then it hit him. FDR was not only parched, but he also left his water bottle in his car. He wasn't in the mood (or shape at the moment) to head outside and back in because he knew that would involve him passing the perky girl at the front desk. He settled on drinking from the water fountain, which didn't have a decent filter. After a few sips, he pulled away from the fountain with a sour look on his face. The water tasted bitter to him, but that was probably due to the salt on his lips from the sweat he just worked up. But he had to admit that the cold water was refreshing. It even settled his mind and body, allowing him to jumble a few thoughts together in regards to getting back home...unscathed.

His reputation aside, here was FDR's current dilemma: should he open up the text before or after lifting weights? He remained at the fountain and thought of his next step. He was about to reach for his phone, but a fellow gym member walked up behind him and asked if he was about to use the fountain. FDR shook his head and moved out of the way, which threw him toward the weights. He nodded his head at the weights, as if it were a sign from God, and returned his phone back into his pocket without reinserting his headphones.

FDR lifted up two forty-pound weights. He usually lifted more, but seeing as he had not eaten breakfast or hydrated properly, he decided to take it easy. After all, he was still feeling a little light-headed from the treadmill, as well as from the questionable, unopened text in his pocket. But his multiple reps went by smoother than his venture on the treadmill. Each lift and relaxation was executed in front of a large mirror that other weightlifters shared. Maybe it was his complete attention to his facial responses or the possibility of being seen by people within arm's reach, but FDR could pretty much keep his mind off of Tuck. But what couldn't be seen on the surface quickly submerged beneath his ribcage. His heartbeat first picked up from lifting weights, but after a few minutes, his heartbeat raced because of the inevitability of having to return home. The worst news lurked in his home, a place he thought his vulnerability would never be threatened. FDR rolled his eyes at his current state. He was scared to return home like he had disobeyed his parents. He was a grown man! This slight glimpse of courage and anger was good for him, though. He was now thinking rationally. Well, rationally compared to before, but he was still wary of what he might lose and what he might be forced to do to protect himself—in other words, he wasn't a deadly assassin who only hunted foreign foes.

FDR stopped lifting and slowly lowered his weights. He could not believe that he actually thought of hurting his friend. Well, his only true friend, assuming Tuck still was once he returned home. The complete and utter loss of Tuck actually hurt FDR's heart. FDR's anger turned in on itself, causing him to beat himself up over everything since day one.

_It was you who followed him on his first day! You actually exposed yourself to him! And if that wasn't bad enough, you violated him! You can call it whatever you want, but you know damn well that he would not have liked your hands on his body._

FDR returned the weights to their station and stretched in front of the mirror. His face may not have read sadness, but his eyes sure did. He put himself in Tuck's shoes, making the guilt even worse. But then it hit him! FDR's eyes opened wide. He was a special agent, and that required him being able to analyze a person's personality and predictable characteristics. But simply, Tuck was not an average Joe. In fact, he would not be hiding behind a text message about the night before. He would have challenged FDR right there in his apartment. So what was he scared of, thought FDR? He squinted his eyes in agreement and reached for his phone. He quickly unlocked it and clicked on messages. It read: **I need to talk to you. I****saw something odd this morning. Call me crazy, but I think someone bit me at the club last night.**

FDR sighed hard and shook his head slightly. He felt absolutely foolish. He thought Tuck was aware of what happened last night, but it seems the alcohol made him forget all about the Walking Fantasy. Aside from his feeling of relief, FDR was becoming angry with himself. He had been worrying for nothing.

_That was a close call, but no more clumsiness. You need to be done with him. You got that? It's going to hurt...but look at where you are now. Do you want to risk everything again? And all because you can't control your urges. Oh yeah, you sure are a "top-notch agent."_

FDR was done working out. He wanted to go home and eat something. Feeling absolutely ecstatic, he returned his phone into his pocket and practically skipped out of the gym. He even smiled and winked at the girl behind the front desk. She couldn't even respond at his gesture, so she simply smiled and gave him googly eyes. FDR started up his car and raced out of the parking lot. He just couldn't wait to get home, but not just to see Tuck per se. Rather, he couldn't wait to bring up all the dirt from last night. Well, he might embellish on a few things and leave some facts out, but Tuck had no idea what was heading his way.

The drive back was not as long as his drive to the gym. FDR attributed that to his previous feelings of despair. He parked his car and raced up his stairwell. _Race_ is a very generous word because FDR's legs were still weak from his morning run. But he was practically flawless when it came to balancing himself and walking at the same time. He finally reached his door, which still remained unlocked from when he left in a hurry. He placed his keys on the kitchen counter and went to pour himself a glass of water.

Seeing as Tuck was not in the kitchen or living room, FDR called out for him. "Tuck, I'm back. Where are you?"

FDR heard a slight grunt and moan, so he looked around him. He called out once more. "Tuck?"

"I'm in here."

"Where is _here?_"

"Your bed."

"Oh, okay." FDR walked down the hall with his glass in hand. He expected to see Tuck getting ready for that morning, but instead he was surprised with a still half-naked Tuck (but in a new pair of underwear belonging to Tuck) sprawled across his bed.

"Are you okay?" FDR asked, giggling.

"Shut up," responded Tuck, his face pressed into a pillow. "I still have a headache. Also, I have no idea how much I drank, but I am unbelievably tired. I might even stay in all day."

"That's fine with me. I'm just going to shower."

"Yeah, yeah. Goodnight."

FDR was suddenly giddy, both at the site of Tuck being hungover as well as back in the same compromising position he was before. FDR collected clean clothes and underwear from his drawers and silently tip-toed to his restroom. But before closing the door, he took one last peek at Tuck. Maybe it his happiness or the relief of the moment, but FDR wanted to remember this moment...because it was going to be the last fond memory he had of Tuck. He was being serious about being done with Tuck at the gym, but seeing Tuck once more in nothing but boxer-briefs, FDR accepted defeat. He may not have thought or hoped anything would happen with Tuck, but he knew that having Tuck around would be unfair to their friendship because Tuck would be repulsed by the perverted thoughts lurking in FDR's brain—if he knew! FDR closed the door and undressed. It was time for a shower, but this time it would be a cold and bitter one.


	8. Chapter 8: Cardiectomy

FDR was definitely determined to disconnect himself from Tuck because not once did his hands venture below his waist during his shower. During his shower he reminisced on his feelings at the gym. He never wanted to feel that helpless or scared in his life again. Yet, he couldn't find it in himself to be completely disappointed in himself. He had an emotional connection with Tuck, it wasn't all based on physical desire. There were things that he had done with Tuck—and things Tuck had for him—that he had never experienced before. It was one thing for him to break apart from a love interest, like some of the female agents, but this was different. It wasn't enough that the freezing water was like needles on his skin; his heart ached at his current situation. He knew it had to be done, but he wasn't confident that it could be done quickly. So he settled on bringing up his return to work and just avoiding Tuck whenever he could. How he would do that would prove difficult, especially when their desks were across from each other. His best bet, he thought, would be to treat this like a mission. Codename: Cardiectomy.

FDR turned off the shower and reached for a towel. The lack of cold water on his body brought attention to another crisis: hunger. He hadn't eaten the night before, and he definitely didn't munch on anything this morning, so his first call-to-action was a venture to his refrigerator. Even though it was now lunch time, he was craving eggs, bacon, and pancakes. He slipped on his underwear, shorts, and shirt before slowly opening the restroom door. Tuck appeared to be asleep, his face still pressed into the pillow. FDR collected his gym clothes and threw them into his hamper. He then made his way to the kitchen and immediately started on breakfast.

Sweet and yummy aromas filled the apartment. FDR was never one to divulge on his hobbies, but he definitely had a knack for cooking. FDR was wondering when Tuck would be getting up, when speak-of-the-devil, he peered around the corner rubbing his eyes. FDR knew the bacon was the cause for Tuck's sudden awakening. Tuck was only wearing his underwear again, which FDR could tell by the appearance of bare flesh in his peripheral vision. To prevent his eyes from wandering, FDR watched bacon sizzle in the pan.

"Mmmm," said Tuck. "Smells good." Tuck walked closer to FDR to get a better whiff of the bacon. FDR tensed up as Tuck closed in. FDR knew he would be tempted to look at Tuck's body, despite the promise he made to himself not too long ago.

"Go put some clothes on," said FDR.

"Why?" asked FDR. "You've never shown discretion before." Tuck giggled slightly.

"It's not that. It's just that you can get burned by the bacon grease. At least put a shirt on."

"Oh. Okay." Tuck was a bit surprised by the concern.

Tuck disappeared and then reappeared within a minute. The bacon was now done, so FDR reached for a spatula to scope it out. He already had the pancakes and eggs on the dining room table. FDR knew Tuck had returned, but instead of walking to the kitchen, Tuck was making himself comfortable at the table. FDR smiled to himself. He had never cooked for Tuck, but he couldn't believe how Tuck looked now. Tuck had fallen victim, like everybody else, to FDR's cooking.

FDR collected the bacon, clean plates, and silverware before heading to the dining table. He looked around him to make sure he wasn't missing anything. Well, he was missing something to drink, but he decided that could wait. He wanted to eat now. And based on how fidgety Tuck was at the moment, so was he. FDR was overjoyed at the thought of finally eating, but his appetite went slightly sour at the sight of Tuck. It appeared that Tuck did not search for his own clothes. Instead, he was sporting one of FDR's favorite blue shirts and a pair of black basketball shorts. He really didn't mind that Tuck borrowed his clothes, but he was baffled at how comfortable Tuck appeared in them. FDR had never let anyone wear his clothes, yet he smirked at how well Tuck looked in them.

"What?" asked Tuck. "Do I have something on my face?"

FDR realized that he had yet to set down the food and cutlery. "Oh, it's nothing. Let's eat."

Tuck and FDR quickly filled their plates. Then the two looked at each other and smiled. They knew they were hungry, yet something was missing.

"Syrup," they said at the same time. FDR was about to stand up and get it, but Tuck stopped him.

"No, no, no. You cooked all this. This is the least I can do."

FDR remained seated and began picking at his eggs.

"Want some orange juice?" asked Tuck.

"Sure," responded FDR. "By the way, can you bring butter for the pancakes. It would be blasphemous without it."

Tuck laughed. "Alright. Found it."

Tuck returned to the table with two glasses, orange juice, butter, and syrup. The two looked like kids as they covered their pancakes with butter and syrup. Tuck appeared to be hungrier because he scarfed down pancake after pancake. Even FDR was amazed.

"Easy there, killer." said FDR with a giggle. "No one is going to take it away."

"Sorry," said Tuck. "It's just so good." Tuck was putting another piece of pancake toward his mouth when a few drops of syrup fell onto his shirt. Rather than return the pancake back to the plate after noticing the mess, Tuck simply ate the piece. The damage had already been done, and it appeared that FDR had noticed.

"Oh," said Tuck. "I'm sorry. I'll wash it. If it doesn't come out, I'll get it dry-cleaned."

"It's okay," said FDR. "I have to do laundry anyway."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure. You can give it to me after we finish eating."

"Okay. Now I'll definitely slow down." Tuck smiled and then went back to eating.

FDR was pouring himself a glass of orange juice when he broke the silence. "So...I was thinking about returning to the agency tomorrow. I'm actually getting tired of my apartment."

Tuck looked up from his plate. "Are you in the right state of mind to do that?"

"I'm not dead, you know," said FDR, giggling. "I actually got a call from Collins the day I got my cast removed. She must have been receiving updates about my current health from my doctor because I'm not sure how else she knew."

"Really? You didn't tell me that."

"I didn't think it was that important."

One side of Tuck's lip twitched at FDR's response. FDR could tell he was kind of hurt, mainly because Tuck couldn't wait to get back on a mission with his best friend.

"Well?" asked Tuck.

"Well, what?"

"What did she say?"

"Oh, Collins just told that she expected me back at the agency, but that I was not fit to return out on the field quite yet."

"Oh, that blows." Tuck took a bite of his bacon and moaned with satisfaction in the taste.

"It sure does. I'm confined to my desk for the time being. But it's not so bad. I only have to pass a physical exam and an obstacle course to be reinstated as an agent."

"Good. That gives me more than enough time to outshine you as one of the best agents."

FDR scoffed. "That's not going to happen. Like I said before: I always end up on top."

Tuck rolled his eyes and ate the last piece of egg on his plate. "Well, I guess we have to go back to work eventually. I actually plan to return home today."

"Really?" asked FDR. His stomach went sour again. He didn't want Tuck to leave.

"Well, I have only visited my place twice since I've been staying here, and that was only to get some fresh clothes. I would like to sleep in my bed for once. Your decision came at a perfect time."

"Oh yeah, you were complaining about how uncomfortable my couch was last night."

Tuck stood up and prepared to take his plate to the sink. He gestured to FDR to ask if he was done eating. FDR nodded and gave his plate and silverware to Tuck.

"Since we're talking about last night, let me tell you what freaked me out this morning." Tuck leaned his head to the side. "See the bites?"

FDR laughed. "Yes, I do."

"Well, would you mind telling me what happened?"

"So you don't remember anything?"

"Bits and pieces. Mostly about us drinking."

Tuck began filling up the sink with water and soap, preparing to clean the dishes.

"You can thank one of the dancers at the club for that," said FDR.

"Oh god. I hope nothing happened past that."

Suddenly images of Tuck's hands on FDR's body filled his mind. FDR shook his head in shock.

"I'm surprised you're complaining. You seemed to like it. In fact, you were bragging about it."

"I wasn't," said Tuck, shocked.

FDR simply nodded.

"I'm not surprised, though. That's actually my "Hot Spot." That's the reason I asked if anything happened past that. Once my neck is messed with, it's go-time."

Tuck finished up with the dishes. "Alright. Well, I'm going to start packing up."

FDR stood up. "So soon? I thought we could...um." His mind went blank.

"Sorry, mate. I need to get some things in order before tomorrow. Also, I'll see you at work. Maybe we can go for lunch...if you're not busy."

Tuck left the kitchen and headed to FDR's bedroom to get his clothes and toiletries together. FDR remained in the kitchen. He knew Tuck was right. He would be seeing him tomorrow. But this felt more like a "goodbye" than a "see you later." But it wasn't. FDR had to attribute his feeling of loss to his current mission of detachment.

_Cheer up. It's better this way. It's like he is leading the way. He can go his separate way, and you can slowly distance yourself from him. It's a win-win. Well...not exactly. Like I said, cheer up._

FDR remained in the kitchen while Tuck got his stuff together. Thirty minutes later Tuck waltzed into the living room with multiple bags in hand. FDR offered his assistance, but Tuck deferred his assistance to the front door. Tuck shouted, "See you tomorrow" as he struggled with his bags down the hallway. FDR wouldn't admit it out loud, but he was actually hurt that Tuck didn't hug him before he left.

_Do you hear yourself? You make it sound like a bad break-up. Shall I make myself clear? You two were never together. _

FDR frowned at his current state and closed his front door. But he didn't move immediately. He scanned his apartment. It looked and felt empty. The apartment was even quieter than usual. Yet, he decided that he was not going to mope around all day.

_You've said your peace. Now get busy._

FDR was being serious about having to do laundry, so he grabbed his hamper and began separating clothes. Knowing the loads would take some time, he decided to clean up his entire apartment. He put the priority of his bedroom pretty far on the list because knowing how tired he was, he would probably just throw himself on his bed and call it a day.

The day dragged on and FDR was almost done cleaning. He only had his room to clean, but it was dinner time. He wasn't in the mood to prepare a feast, so he had a sandwich with chips. After all his hard work, he felt that he earned himself some TV time. But a few minutes turned into a few hours. Next thing he knew it was 10 pm and time for bed. He was going to mess up his bed anyway, so he didn't mind that he didn't get to his room yet. Tomorrow I'll get to it, he thought. One by one the lights went out in the apartment.

_In a few hours. Just a few. You'll get to see him again._

FDR awoke to the beeping of his phone alarm. He definitely needed to fix his sleeping pattern because he was no longer used to getting up at 7 am. Since he wasn't going to be on any missions any time soon, he decided to wear jeans and a black v-neck. He then pulled himself out of bed and headed toward his dresser. He was about to head to the restroom, clothes in hand, when he spotted clothes thrown along the side of the bed. FDR had made a habit of throwing his dirty clothes into his hamper, so this sight was confusing for him. He reached for the dirty clothes. It took a few seconds for him to realize that they were the clothes Tuck wore when they had breakfast. The shirt even had the syrup stain. Although it went against his better judgment, FDR shoved his face into the shirt and inhaled. He could smell smokey and sweet scents and even a slight remainder of Tuck's body soap.

_What are you doing?! Stop it._

FDR pulled the shirt away from his face quickly as if it were poison. He threw the dirty clothes into his hamper and headed into the restroom. By the time 7:30 came around, he was in the kitchen having his coffee. He knew it was going to be a long day. But it wasn't the agency that worried him. Tuck was now the target—the target he had to avoid. As for how he would do that exactly in a closed-off building, he was still trying to figure that out.

FDR arrived at the agency around 8:30 am. He wasn't even at his desk for five minutes when Collins arrived. She put stacks of files on his desks and told him that for the next few days it was his duty to mark the case as either classified or declassified. FDR scoffed and smiled at the small amount of files. But the smile disappeared from his face when she said that more would be coming his way.

He must have been busy at his computer because FDR hadn't spotted Tuck. Tuck didn't even stop by his desk, which was pretty odd as he had no where else to occupy. FDR thought about texting him, but his conscience got the better of him. It was almost lunch time, so FDR eagerly awaited a visit or a text, but he had no such luck. During his lunch break, he made it a point to wander around the agency to see if he bumped into Tuck. But once again, his search was unsuccessful. He felt rather desperate at the moment, so he decided to just return to his desk job. A few hours of solitaire later and he was calling it a day.

_He's just busy. Anyway, look at that. You made it one day without him. _

But even FDR couldn't push himself to be happy about his feat.

A week passed and Tuck was still nowhere to be found. By the fifth day, FDR became frustrated and decided to just drop Tuck a one-liner via text: **How's it going?** Sadly, Tuck did not text FDR back. By the seventh day, FDR decided to catch Collins in the hallway to ask about Tuck. She was surprised at his interest in Tuck since Tuck had spent close to a month with him. She expected FDR and Tuck to have been joined at the hip by now. She eventually revealed that Tuck had been on three assignments which required many agents to be stationed elsewhere without their personal belongings. Any communication was done through the home base. FDR took this as an understandable excuse and decided to carry on with his files.

Three weeks went by and FDR was adjusting to the lack of Tuck in his life. But he had to admit that it couldn't come at a better time. He felt like he was carrying out his "mission" as planned. Successfully, he might add, but all his accomplishments were based solely on Tuck's absence. FDR would have to be in the same room as Tuck to ensure that he was done with their "friendship."

FDR's new routine consisted of getting up, having coffee, dealing with files, having lunch by himself or with a few agents, a few hours of solitaire, and then back home before the cycle repeats. A month had past and Tuck was not back at the agency. Well, that is what FDR thought. FDR was surprised during his lunch break when he ran into Tuck in the elevator with two female agents. Tuck seemed to be flirting with the women, which undoubtedly bothered FDR.

"Hey," said Tuck. "I was wondering when I was going to see you."

"Hey." FDR only smiled at the female agents. "When did you get back?"

"Uh, about two days ago."

"Oh," was all he could muster. He felt hurt and betrayed. Tuck didn't even extend the courtesy of letting FDR know that he was back in town.

_He could have at least told me that he was okay. He was on multiple missions after all._

"We're headed off to lunch," said Tuck. "Wanna join?"

FDR was furious that Tuck would even suggest that, but he did not express his discontent with the situation. Rather, FDR said that he had other plans.

"Oh, another time then," said Tuck.

"Sure."

When the elevator door opened, FDR quickly made a run for it. He may have seemed crazy to a random bystander, but his thoughts were beyond that.

_Yeah, yeah, I know. I should be happy that he is searching for happiness (or maybe a fling) with someone, but could he have been cordial with me in the least? Am I suddenly chopped liver?_

FDR took a detour into the closet restroom. He went immediately to a restroom stall to avoid anyone from seeing or hearing anything. FDR locked the door and sighed.

_All I wanted was a proper goodbye. Aside from my regrets, Tuck is a great guy. Is one hug too much to ask for, or even a pat on the back?_

FDR's suspicions proved true: He was not strong enough to let Tuck go just yet. FDR remained in the stall for a few minutes to compose himself. But as his sadness subsided, jealousy set in. It wasn't that he wished he was in the position of those female agents; FDR knew he couldn't compete with them. Tuck was straight. That was a fact already known. But even FDR knew that after his mission was complete, he wouldn't mind having the occasional lunch or Chips marathon with Tuck. His original intent was simple: severe all ties to prevent another (perverse) slip-up. It was never to end it and treat Tuck like a stranger. Also, once Tuck had become another bromance, FDR could mingle back into the crowd of heterosexuals and once again reign supreme as a top agent and ladies man. The only thing preventing him from getting there was ending his current relationship in a proper fashion—not just so it would be over with, but mainly so _that_ wound would remain closed.

FDR had never experience anything close to a broken heart. He was always the wanted in the prowl, and women would have to chase him. Yeah, there were a few women who just wanted a go-round with FDR, which sometimes left him feeling a bit bitter. Don't get him wrong, though. FDR could see himself settling down with a woman. But as for men, that was an interesting topic. His feelings for men were left unexplored. Physically, of course. FDR did visit porn sites and naughty (webcam) chatrooms, but his interests never expanded beyond that. Simply said, that part of his life was left untouched. But that statement had slowly unraveled when he met Tuck. Of course, sadly, that physical exchange was neither mutual nor consensual. I guess you could say that teasing the caged beast wasn't a good idea. Sometimes you can make the beast too angry, making him want out of his cage.

FDR didn't mind when he saw female agents throw themselves at Tuck. However, when Tuck returned the favor, it made his skin crawl. It kind of felt like Tuck was being dangled before him. But what it really was about was that FDR desperately wished he could be that open with his fascination. In basic form, he was jealous of everything. But Jealousy was good in this case. It gave him the fuel he needed to settle things. Although it was hard at first, he mustered the courage to reject Tuck's invitations to dinner, bars, or even lunch at work. Luckily for FDR, plans were canceled via textbecause Tuck was busy on missions, which prevented FDR from seeing puppy-dog eyes. He wasn't sure he could handle that. FDR had even ignored Tuck's surprise visit to his apartment, keeping extra quiet behind the front foor. FDR felt childish about the whole situation, to be honest, and a little hurt. But Tuck had become a forbidden fruit. And FDR was simply not strong enough to deny it.

FDR's prerogative to avoid Tuck was now becoming too obvious. So obvious in fact that when Tuck returned from his last mission he marched immediately to FDR's desk and clapped his hands together loudly.

"Well!" shouted Tuck, practically knocking FDR out of his chair from fright.

"Oh shit! Are you trying to kill me?"

"I might be. Unless you explain to me why my best mate does not want to hang out with me. Hell, I would even like it if we could have a text conversation that was more than five lines."

"Uh...um." FDR was really at a loss for words. He may have been busy on a game of solitaire, but he was not expecting Tuck to be so blatant about his feelings. But, FDR should have seen that coming. Tuck's first visit to his place was a very sentimental experience.

"Is that all I get?" asked Tuck, whose faced appeared hard yet sad.

"I'm sorry. I-I-I've just been very busy."

"Uh-huh," said Tuck, doubtfully. "I checked up on your file. You haven't even done your physical. How do you expect to be put back on missions?"

"I've been meaning to do that, but Collins has been piling up all these files. It's kept me busy."

Tuck looked at the files and peered at the computer screen. "Ah, yes, busy." Tuck raised his eyebrow.

FDR palms began to sweat so he dried them off by rubbing his palms against his pants.

"It's not what you think. I do miss you. As for solitaire, I was just taking a little break. Let me make it up to you."

_What the hell are you doing?_

_"_Make it up to me?" reiterated Tuck. He paused for a few seconds and rubbed his chin. "Alright. Dinner tomorrow. You have to agree to whatever I suggest. Got that?"

"Sure," replied FDR, reluctantly. "Time and place?"

"And I'm serious. I will hunt you down. And if that doesn't work, just remember that I have access to your files. My charm can go a long way, mate." Tuck squinted his eyes. "You wouldn't want to be transferred to another position, would you?"

"You wouldn't dare!" FDR could not believe he was being bribed into dinner. Even worse, his conscience couldn't believe that he was entertaining this situation.

_You were doing so good! Don't give in!_

"Olive Garden. 8 pm. I'll pick you up so you can't try to avoid me."

"I'm not avoiding you!"

"Uh-huh. Whatever you say."

"Well I've got to get a few things straightened out with Collins. So I'll see you later."

"Cool." FDR sat in his chair and scooted up to his computer. When Tuck was finally out of sight, he sighed. But, he felt extremely giddy.

_You just love to get hurt, don't you? You know you're not ready to be so close to him!_

FDR did somewhat see the cons of the situation, but he either had to wait it out (and possibly ruin everything with Tuck) or dive right in and go with the flow. Anyway, Olive Garden was an open restaurant. It's not like FDR had the luxury of feeling Tuck up...not that he wanted to do that again. In mid-thought, his phone buzzed. It was a text from Tuck.

It read: **I can't wait for dinner. We have a lot to catch up on. I have some good news.**

FDR responded: **I'm excited, too. And what news?**

Tuck:**I don't want to give the surprise away. **

FDR: **Aw, come on. At least drop me a hint.**

Tuck: **Okay. Just because I'm in a good mood. Let's just say that I created a dating profile.**

And as quickly as Tuck's text was received, FDR's jaw dropped. He was not expecting that bombshell. Now he wished that he had fought Tuck's bribery with a stronger stance. But now he was going to pay for it.


	9. Chapter 9: Olive Garden

Tuck was serious about having dinner with FDR. He texted FDR early in the morning to make sure he was coming into work and even checked up on him at his desk to make sure he hadn't sneaked off. FDR definitely hadn't, but it did cross his mind a few times. To make matters worse, FDR had barely slept the night before. His mind was reeling over how he should respond to Tuck's news. He definitely didn't want to discourage him off-the-bat because that would be too suspicious. Also, being too happy would be just as questionable. In all seriousness, FDR was somewhat relieved that Tuck was taking interest in someone. Noteworthy, FDR wasn't blinded by his obsession to know that Tuck was a nice guy. And as with all of his friends, FDR always wished them the best. It would be both hypocritical and unfair to make Tuck the only exception.

FDR didn't slack off today. He finished with his files a little after lunch time. After checking in with Collins, he was allowed to leave early, but on one condition: FDR would need to complete his duties to reinstate himself as an agent. FDR gave her his word and went on his merry way. He was actually relieved to not bump into Tuck on the way out. He wanted to get home quickly so that he could get himself ready for tonight. And of course his luck ran out while on his drive from home. Tuck had texted him. Rather than be happy about it, like he usually was, FDR rolled his eyes and picked up his phone.

The text read: **Did you leave work early today?**

FDR responded: **Yes. How did you know?**

Tuck:** I asked Collins. Since you are free for the rest of the day, I expect you to be prompt.**

FDR: **Yeah, yeah, I'll be ready. Make sure you bring me flowers.**

Tuck.** LOL Very funny. Be ready by eight.**

FDR: **I know. I'm not an idiot.**

Tuck didn't respond to FDR's text, leaving him much relieved. FDR was pulling into his garage space when he realized he had a huge smirk on his face. He couldn't believe Tuck's persistence. He had to hand it to him. It was only dinner, but he wanted to at least try to show that much enthusiasm.

FDR looked good in no matter what he wore, so he didn't spend much time in his closet. But something seemed off every time he tried on an outfit. He groaned and grunted back and forth into his closet. He was in his fourth outfit when he stopped in front of the mirror and told himself out loud, "Look at yourself! It's just dinner." FDR sighed and threw his head back as he reached for the outfit he tried on first.

_Do you think this is a date? Because it's not. You're never going to learn. _

FDR redressed himself and sat at the edge of his bed. He rested his face against the palms of his hands and took a deep breath. There was nothing fishy about his excitement for their dinner plans, honestly. He and Tuck always had a great time when they were one-on-one. Unbeknownst to him, FDR was feeling uneasy about spending time with Tuck because he hadn't had any sexual satisfaction in over a month. It wasn't necessarily a conscious decision, but he mostly avoided pleasing himself in fear of his fantasies once again being overtaken by Tuck. Sometimes at night, he thought about going after a female agent just to distract himself. But he couldn't fool himself into thinking _that_ would fulfill his wants. Also, if he did go after an agent, it was only a matter of time before Tuck started to nose his way into FDR's private life. FDR could see Tuck suggesting double-dating, but having a front-row seat to Tuck making out with a woman wasn't his idea of a good time or progress in his endeavor.

As he combed his hair in the restroom, FDR's cellphone rang. He set down his brush and reached for his phone. It was a call from Tuck. FDR was surprised that Tuck didn't just text, so he assumed it was urgent and answered it.

"Hello?" asked FDR.

"Hey. Are you home?"

"Yes."

"Cool. I should be there in fifteen minutes. Should I meet you upstairs?"

"No, I can walk down."

"Sounds good. See you soon."

"Okay. Bye." FDR hung up his phone and set it back on the sink. He looked himself over in the mirror. He looked good, as usual. He just needed one more thing: cologne. The last time he wore cologne was when Tuck threw him his post-recovery bash. FDR hadn't worn it since because the scent reminded him of how that night ended. But tonight he was willing to make an exception just for old-time sake.

He made his way down to the lobby of his apartment. He was about to walk out the front doors when his phone rang. It was a text from Tuck. FDR was hoping that it was Tuck canceling his plans, but it was just a reminder that he was parked outside. FDR locked his phone and looked up. Tuck was driving a black BMW.

"You know you don't have to keep messaging me, right?" asked FDR as he opened Tuck's passenger door. "I never break a promise."

"I was just letting you know I was down here. Now that you're in my car you don't have to worry about anymore messages." Tuck laughed. "Now let's get to it."

Tuck and FDR didn't converse on their way to the restaurant. The radio filled the silence during their 25-minute drive. Neither one spoke until they arrived in the Olive Garden parking lot. Tuck broke the silence first.

"I'm starving. I actually already know what I want."

FDR giggled. "Really? Do you come here often?"

"Often? That is an understatement." Tuck got out of his car and lead the way to the restaurant entrance. "I absolutely love this place. You can order anything and it will always be amazing."

FDR rolled his eyes. "I'll be the judge of that." FDR reached the front door first and pulled it open. "After you."

Tuck smiled. "Thank you." He walked to the hostess and requested a table for two, but the restaurant had been busy at that time. As a condolence, they were seated in a small half-circle booth located in a far corner that was only in view of two other occupied tables. Neither of them complained, though, because they had the entire table to themselves along with the comfort of plush seats. FDR entered from one side and Tuck entered the other. Once seated, they stared at each other and laughed at the distance between them. They decided to scoot closer to each other so they wouldn't have to yell across the table.

"Hi, my name is Jennifer," said the waitress. "I'll be your server. What would you like to drink?"

"I'll have a peach tea," said Tuck, glancing at FDR.

"Um, can I have a scotch on the rocks?"

"I see you came to drink," said Tuck, laughing.

"I just want to unwind. You're the alcoholic." The truth was FDR was a little nervous around Tuck, so he was hoping a little bit of alcohol would help ease him into the night.

The waitress smiled and said, "Sure. I'll have those out here soon."

Tuck picked up his menu and glanced over the items. "What are you going to have?"

"I'm not sure. I'm always in the mood for spaghetti."

"Mmm. Their meat sauce is really good."

"I bet you would know that. So is having meat in your mouth a common occurrence?"

"Shut up," said Tuck, pushing FDR playfully.

The two remained silent as they analyzed their menus. The waitress returned with their drinks as they settled on what to order. She placed the drinks in front of them.

"Oh, I see y'all are ready to order," said Jennifer. "What will it be?"

"I'll have the apricot chicken," said Tuck.

"And I'll have the spaghetti with meat sauce."

"Good choices," remarked Jennifer. "I'll bring salad and breadsticks after I put in this order."

"Okay," said FDR, reaching for his scotch and taking a sip.

"So how's life?" asked Tuck. "I bet you have a lot to tell me since you've been avoiding me for the past month."

"Hey! I haven't been avoiding you. You've been on missions, and I'm being punished for being reckless during our first mission together, even though Collins won't admit to that."

"I'm just busting your balls. Come on. Tell me what's new?" Tuck took a sip from his tea. FDR glanced at the way Tuck's lips wrapped around the straw before immediately looking away.

_Just stop it. You are going to make this dinner uncomfortable for the __both of you._

"Nothing really. I've started to work out again. Look at these guns!" FDR flexed. He expected Tuck to tease him, but FDR was extremely surprised when Tuck put a hand around his bicep. His arms remained flexed as Tuck gently massaged it.

"Not bad," said Tuck.

FDR scanned the restaurant to see if anyone notice what just happened. It felt like something right out of his fantasies.

"But if you want to feel a man's arm, check these out," remarked Tuck, grabbing FDR's right hand and placing it upon his bicep. "Go ahead. Give it a good squeeze."

FDR hesitated in disbelief.

"Aw, is that the best you got? I said _feel it."_

FDR looked Tuck straight in the eyes and kneaded Tuck's bicep. Tuck may have been acting playful, but FDR was becoming uncomfortable.

"I don't know what you're talking about," said FDR, breaking the tension for his sake. FDR laughed. "Your arms are much smaller than mine." FDR let go of Tuck's arm and took a large gulp of his scotch.

"You're just jealous." Tuck giggled.

Jennifer returned with breadsticks, salad, and plates. "Want any cheese on that?"

"No," they said at the same time.

"Okay," said Jennifer. "Enjoy. Also, your food should be out in 15 minutes."

"Okay," replied Tuck. "Thank you. By the way, could you get my friend here another scotch."

"No, I'm good," said FDR.

"The hell you are. Can you please get him another?"

FDR looked at Tuck and shook his head.

"What do you mean 'no'?" asked Tuck. "Remember what I said? You have to go along with whatever I say."

FDR grunted. "Fine. I'll have another, please."

Jennifer nodded and smiled before leaving.

"You must be trying to get me fucked up," said FDR.

"I sure am," sang Tuck, winking.

FDR chugged the remaining amount of scotch in his glass. He was definitely going to need to drink if he was going to deal with Tuck's "flirting."

_What the hell is he doing? Oh God, I just know I'm being tested. Or maybe. No! He wouldn't! What if he suspects and he is trying to __get __me to crack? _

"Pass me a plate. I'm hungry." FDR piled salad onto his plate and began stuffing his face. His intention was to keep his mouth full to avoid anymore of Tuck's questions. Also, he used this tactic to put the spotlight on Tuck by bringing up the dating site. Although he knew that would keep Tuck busy, he wasn't necessarily happy to hear about it.

"So what's the big news?" FDR stabbed a piece of lettuce and threw it into his mouth.

Tuck smirked at FDR stuffing his face. "About that. Well, I joined a dating site three weeks ago, and I've received a few responses."

"Don't be modest," interjected FDR. "You know you had more than a thousand hits. I've seen how women act around you."

"No, I'm being honest."

"Uh-huh."

"Are you going to let me finish the story?"

"Sorry, my bad. Carry on."

"Where was I? Oh yeah. I've been talking to a few women. They aren't agents, which I like because I need someone to keep me rooted."

FDR raised an eyebrow. "I actually never took you as the dating website type. In fact, I thought you were picking up girls every weekend."

"You've got me wrong there, mate." Tuck placed his hand on his chest. "Unlike you, I am a gentleman."

"Hey, I'm gentle with women."

"That's not the same thing. I don't fool around. I've never even had a one-night stand."

"Really? Not one?"

"Believe it or not, mate. I just can't have meaningless sex. I need passion and romance. Sex is beautiful in that it can bring two people closer together."

FDR's jaw dropped slightly. This was not the impression he previously received of Tuck, especially after their crazy night at La Rouge.

"I never took you as the romantic type. But I'm actually not surprised. We've talked about women, but you've never sexualized them."

"Yep. Don't think I haven't tried having a one-night stand. I just can't. I used to have a deep connection with my ex, and I miss that, which is why I joined a dating site." He took another sip. "Yeah, there are the creepers on there who are looking to hook up, but there are genuine women on there who want to settle down. Also, I have a son. I wouldn't want him to see his father gallivanting with numerous women."

"You've got a point," said FDR, reaching for the new glass of scotch the waitress placed on the table. "I don't mean to sound vulgar, but you don't miss the copious amounts of sex?"

"All the time. I have my urges, but I need another human being. Pleasing myself only goes so far."

"And even our orgasms don't compare to theirs."

"They sure don't, unfortunately." Tuck raised his glass as the universal signal for a toast. FDR raised his glass and clinked it against Tuck's.

"Can I ask you a crazy question?"

"Sure. I don't think there isn't anything we don't know about each other."

_If you only knew._

"Do you ever wonder what it would feel like to have a vagina for a day?"

"Not gonna lie, it's come up a few times. Like I said, sex is very powerful. I could only imagine the emotional connection a woman has after an intense orgasm. And she may even have multiple."

"I'm genuinely jealous about that. She doesn't need a refresh time." FDR laughed and took a sip.

"So tell me. If you were a woman with a fully functioning vagina, what would be your type of guy?" Tuck huffed out a laugh.

"I'm not going to answer that." FDR was not liking where this conversation was going. He had been slightly paranoid about Tuck's intentions since his wink, and now he was overanalyzing Tuck's weird questions.

"Aw, come on. Entertain me for a moment."

"Nope."

Paranoia was still rearing its ugly head.

"So you avoid me for about a month and now you can't even entertain your best buddy with a hypothetical situation." Here came the puppy-dog eyes.

FDR was never one to turn down a question, and whatever trust he had between Tuck encouraged him to answer truthfully. But that wasn't going to happen. Well, not completely. FDR made sure to avoid any characteristics that were anything close to Tuck.

"Dammit. Fine. But if I describe my ideal guy, you have to describe yours. Agreed?"

"Agreed."

"Okay. Hmm. I've never thought of this, so give me some time to think." That was obviously a lie. "Okay. He would be an all-American guy, and built like a body builder. Something exotic, like Brazilian or Italian. Nice eyes and smile. Now this is getting freaky. You go."

"Alright, alright. Let's see. He would look like...look like...well, I'd go after a guy like you."

FDR's jaw dropped at that statement.

_My ears are playing tricks on me!_

Yet, he played along. If Tuck had any intentions, FDR was going to make him squirm, because two could play this game! "Um...oh...I wasn't expecting that."

"Sorry, I didn't mean to turn the mood sour. I've always been comfortable in my sexuality. And I'm not ashamed to admit when a guy is handsome."

"Oh, you didn't. I'm just somewhat shocked because we've never been this open before." They both laughed and took a sip of their drinks.

"So would I be worthy of a go-round with Tuck?"

"What do you mean?"

"In other words, assuming you had the hots for my female form, what would you do to me?"

FDR winked at Tuck, and expected him to brush off the question and change the subject. Suddenly Tuck moved in close to FDR so that their thighs were barely touching.

"A little piece of advice: You can never embarrass me," whispered Tuck into FDR's right ear. "I see what you're trying to do here. You wanna play a game, big boy?" Tuck giggled. "You really wanna know what I'd do to you?" Tuck waited for FDR to respond, but he remained silent with wide eyes. "I'm going to continue no matter your answer."

"Uh..." started FDR, keeping his eye out for anyone questioning what a grown man could be doing so close to another grown man.

"Too late. Let's see. Where should I start?"

FDR contemplated moving away from Tuck, but he knew that would be him giving in to him. And that was one thing Tuck would never let him live down. Also, even if he were to move, where the hell would he go? Tuck drove him there, and he wasn't about to run around the restaurant just because his friend was trying to make him cringe.

"I know," continued Tuck. "Let's just get right into it. I like my women in a short cocktail dress. I'd slowly unzip your back and throw your hair over your shoulder. As I unzip you, I gently kiss your neck." FDR gulps hard and reaches for his scotch. He can tell Tuck is enjoying this. "I occasionally nibble on your shoulder to keep you on your toes." Tuck is now breathing upon FDR's neck, driving him wild beneath his stern (yet shocked) exterior. "I take a whiff of your perfume. By the way, your cologne smells really good."

That is the final straw. FDR cannot take the teasing, even if it is hypothetical. He tries to change the subject, accepting the humiliation that will follow for months to come. But Tuck doesn't care. FDR leans away from Tuck's hot breath and tries to scoot away from him. In a swift movement, Tuck's right arm reaches for Tuck's left forearm and he is yanked back into his original position. FDR scans the room again, but this time his mind is racing. He cannot believe this is happening. He is being manhandled by Tuck, and it is taking everything to restrain himself. He tries to dash away once more, but he is stopped with an arm around his neck, though it is placed there gently.

"Where do you think you're going?" asked Tuck, seductively. "I'm not finished yet. I sniff at your perfume. It smells like rose petals—my favorite. I pull your dress off and drop it to the floor. I've been wanting you for so long, so I don't hesitate to throw you onto the bed in nothing but your red bra and panties. I undress myself as you gently touch yourself. Seeing me strip drives you wild."

FDR noticed a couple glancing their way a few times and whispering to each other. He pushed Tuck away, causing him to look around the restaurant. Tuck noticed what made FDR react like that so he moved away for a few seconds, but didn't remove his arm from around FDR's neck. Now it appeared from a distance that they were interacting like frat brothers, nothing more than two heterosexual men enjoying their bromance.

But Tuck eventually returned back to his position and tightened his grip around FDR's neck, bringing it within centimeters of his mouth. FDR chugged his drink and signaled to the waitress for another. He was going to need it.

"I crawl onto the bed and between your legs. You moan as my tongue teases you through your panties. By this point your fingers are tangled in my hair. You're begging for me to take full advantage of you." FDR desperately wants to get away now, but his lustful side is begging for more of Tuck's story. Also, it would be quite embarrassing for FDR if he moved and in turn revealed the growing erection in his pants.

_What the hell did I get myself into? Tuck has never acted this way around me? But fuckin' shit, I want him to continue. Fuck it! If I can't have him, I'll easily accept this. I'm sorry. I thought I was stronger._

"I tear off your panties and unhook your bra. I play with your nipples as I flick my tongue against your clit. My tongue travels between your labia, making you moan even louder. I lick you until you start getting close to a climax, but then I stop. You fuss over my sudden pause, but I throw you over and get you on all fours. I'm going to treat you like a little bitch. _My _little bitch. I finger you from behind as I stroke myself. I want you to take all of me. I tease the head at first and then I force myself all the way into you. You try to crawl away, but I pull you in by your hips." FDR was now fully erect. Luckily for him, his pants were keeping his penis parallel to his thigh. "Every thrust makes you moan in pleasure. I pull on your hair and make you scream my name."

FDR gulped hard. He couldn't believe this was happening. He felt like a joke had gone too far, but his body was subconsciously egging Tuck on by not moving. It also didn't help that FDR had been moaning subtly whenever Tuck's breathe passed his ear.

_Dammit! Don't stop!_

Jennifer comes back with FDR's drink, making Tuck pull away from him. The moment she leaves, Tuck is once again next to FDR, whom thinks Tuck is going to continue with his story. But, he doesn't. Tuck reaches for a breadstick and takes a big bite out of it. He doesn't return his arm around FDR's neck, sensing that FDR has gotten the hint not to move.

"I've always liked a grand finish," continued Tuck. "I bring you close to climax again, but this time I massage your clit. You cum and I feel your pussy contract. It pulls my dick into it. I throw you onto your back and I straddle your chest. I have you finish me off. Your manicured nails wrap around my shaft and start stroking it. I feel it building." Tuck moaned into FDR ear, almost making him want to turn and kiss Tuck right then and there. But he didn't, thankfully. But he continued to listen and sip his scotch. By now the liquor had taken hold on his empty stomach and he was feeling tipsy. His inhibitions were definitely weakening.

"I'm gonna-I'm gonna-I'm gonna..." Tuck moaned once more but deeper. "Cum!" Tuck was a little louder than he should have been because the people at the two occupied tables had given them odd glances. FDR looked their way but immediately looked down at his feet. He was now blushing. The site of his rosy cheeks caught Tuck's attention, so he gave FDR's thigh a squeeze and said, "Thanks for that. I needed it."

FDR slowly turned to look at Tuck, slightly worried about Tuck's expression. FDR is met with a smirking Tuck whom eventually breaks into laughter at how much he divulged about his hypothetical situation. FDR sighed, and is relieved that it was a joke. Well, he suspected it was a joke the entire time, but never had he been that close to Tuck. Tuck was actually manhandling him. If this happened a month ago, FDR wasn't sure what would happen. He would probably be repeating what happened that night with Jeremy.

FDR playfully pushed Tuck. "You're a sicko, you know that?" He giggled.

"I know I am, mate. But you sat there and took it, didn't you?"

"Well, I was trying to prove that I could take your weird sense of humor. I kind of feel like you've been preparing this fantasy for a while now." He raised an eyebrow. "Do you secretly have the hots for me, Tuck?" He laughed and took another sip. The scotch was definitely talking at this point. He would never be this submissive to Tuck. Also, if the liquor wasn't bringing out his naughty side, he would be sticking to his mantra. But one thing the alcohol was doing, oddly enough, was making him braver than usual.

FDR looked around the restaurant once more while Tuck fiddled with his phone. Tuck was still laughing to himself, so FDR avoided looking in his direction. Then a hostess walked past his line of sight. She was showing a couple to their seats. A gay couple, to be exact. FDR didn't know what came over him, but he decided to continue his charade with Tuck a little longer.

"Hey," said FDR, waving his hand in front of Tuck's face to get his attention. "Since we're still on hypothetical questions, have you ever thought of being with another man?"

Tuck flinched at FDR's question. FDR was cheering internally because he felt like he was dishing out payback. But lo and behold, Tuck answered. "I've had a few drunk kisses, on a dare of course. And even when I'm sober, nothing has ever escalated past the typical frat behavior, like grabbing each other's asses or crotches." Tuck giggled as his revelation even though it didn't answer FDR's question.

"What about you?" asked Tuck. "Did it ever cross your mind in college?"

FDR took another sip. He used that time to plan out his response; he didn't want to give too much away, especially since he still had secrets he needed to keep. "I never went to college, so it never crossed my mind. But...I...um..." FDR looked at Tuck for a moment before throwing his eyes into the opposite direction.

Tuck could tell this question was making FDR uncomfortable, so he chimed in with his truthful response to FDR's original question. "In all truthfulness, I actually have. Once or twice maybe, which is more than some guys might reveal." FDR turned his head slowly toward Tuck. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. Even his mind calmed from the confession.

_Where the hell is this conversation going?_

"Really?" asked FDR in a soft tone. "I...um...actually have, too." He still couldn't look Tuck in the eyes.

_Why the hell am I telling him this?_

"There's nothing wrong about it. There isn't just only one way to love, and there isn't only just one way to have sex. I feel like sexuality is more fluid than people give it credit."

FDR could feel his heart beating through his chest. This was both a fantasy as well as a code red! He needed some type of comic relief before the liquor made its way up. That would be more humiliating than FDR's boner.

"Interesting," said FDR, with a slight chuckle. "So humor me. If we were both curious for each other, would it happen?" Now that was a question he thought Tuck would never answer. Tuck took a long swig from his cup, his eyes scanning the ceiling. FDR decided to do the same.

"Sure," said Tuck, flatly.

FDR chocked on his drink, making Tuck laugh.

_What. The. Fuck!_

FDR blushed; Tuck noticed. "Aw, mate. Look at you being cute. Take the compliment."

FDR nodded slowly as a thank you.

"If it's any consolation, you have a nice ass."

FDR's eyes opened wide. He turned to Tuck as if to confront him for peeping.

"I did see more than I bargained for during our first mission, remember?" asked Tuck, winking again.

FDR laughed. "You have a nice ass, too."

"Uh, when did you see my ass?"

"You did sleep in your underwear, remember? You went to get some Tylenol. I just happened to glance." FDR wasn't going to say he saw a blurred version of it through the shower curtain.

"Did you like what you saw?"

"Shut up." He pushed Tuck playfully once more.

"I see you're an ass-man." The statement brought back memories for FDR.

FDR giggled. "Mostly."

Jennifer returned to their table with plates of food. Tuck moved away from FDR.

"Do y'all need anything else?"

"I think we're good," said Tuck.

FDR smiled at the waitress and looked to Tuck. He expected him to continue with his flattery. But Tuck was already digging into his plate. FDR decided to do the same. He knew that if Tuck continued throwing compliments, he would probably choke on his meat sauce.

To FDR's dismay, Tuck kept their conversation to a few sentences. FDR accepted the change in tone, but that didn't mean FDR wasn't screaming internally.

_Have I been going about this the wrong way? Would I actually have a chance? Wait. No, you wouldn't! He's just being friendly! But he has taken note of my ass. Yeah, duh, because you practically exposed yourself to him. _

FDR wasn't settling on a legitimate conclusion. He felt like he was being ripped down the middle.

_You wanted to test yourself, well here it is. Is he truly worth it? Are you willing to give up everything for someone who is speaking hypothetically?_

FDR slowly lost his appetite. But it wasn't because of guilt. It was because of sorrow. Sorrow at a lost opportunity, yet underlined by a fear that Tuck would want to remove himself from their friendship if he didn't reciprocate.

After eating, Tuck talked about his weekend plans with his son. Now that was a conversation for FDR. He loved to see Tuck smile whenever he brought up his son. It was also nice for FDR to see Tuck being brought happiness by something other than intimacy.

They remained at the restaurant for about an hour before Tuck announced that he had to get home soon because of an early-morning mission. FDR asked about the details of the mission, but Tuck denied his request since FDR hadn't been reinstated, but he was mainly fooling.

The waitress arrived with the bill, which FDR reached for first. Tuck snatched it out of his hand and announced, "You were my date. I should be paying." Tuck giggled, and FDR's mouth went dry.

_Did he just say "date"?_

Tuck placed cash onto the table and scooted out of the booth. FDR did the same and followed him out of the restaurant and into the parking lot.

Tuck kept his eyes on the road while FDR constantly threw glances his way. Tuck didn't seem to notice.

_Was he flirting with me? Legitimately flirting with me? Or am I just thinking with the wrong head? None of my other male counterparts were ever this revealing about their desires or rare thoughts._

Tuck pulled up to FDR's apartment entrance. "It was great hanging out with you," said Tuck. "We should do this again."

"I had fun. And we should. But I get to pick everything next time."

"Sure. Whatever you want."

FDR patted Tuck on the shoulder as a goodbye gesture. He was about to pull himself out of the car when Tuck grabbed him by his arm.

"Hey, I'm going on a dangerous mission tomorrow. I know I'll only be gone for just one day...but give me a hug."

FDR was a little hesitant at the command, yet he sat back down and put his arms around Tuck's neck. "What are you talking about? You'll be fine."

He expected Tuck to loosen his grip, but he started to caress his back. "I have a confession to make."

_Oh my God. This can't be what I think it is. Please God, let it be._

"I don't mean to sound sappy," started Tuck. "But I was almost killed on my last mission. I had a large knife to my neck. That's why I pushed you into having dinner with me. You're actually my only best friend in the agency. My son, my ex, and my family crossed my mind as I was held against my will." FDR broke from his embrace to look at Tuck's face. "And you also crossed my mind. If I was going to die, I didn't want our friendship to be based on a few text messages and lack of conversations." Tuck went silent.

FDR pulled Tuck back into an embrace. "It's okay. I understand. I promise we will have lunch and dinner whenever. Hell, we can have breakfast, too."

Tuck huffed out a laugh. FDR closed his eyes and breathed in the smell of Tuck's body soap.

"Alright, mate. Get going. I have to get my things together."

FDR finally got out of the car, but not once did he take his eyes off of Tuck. And if he wasn't mistaken, he could have sworn that Tuck had watery eyes. FDR closed the car door and Tuck sped off. He watched the car disappear around the corner before heading into his apartment building. He wasn't sure what just happened, but one thing was certain: His feelings for Tuck were stronger than ever.

When FDR finally made it to his apartment, he texted Tuck to thank him for the dinner. Tuck responded with a basic "You're welcome" response, but it still made FDR smile. He threw himself onto his bed and stared at the ceiling with a big smile on his face. Oh, how he desperately wanted Tuck to be lying next to him. Maybe it was his happiness with the evening or the feelings he now knew Tuck had for him, but he dozed of quickly into a fantasy that he had sworn would never be visited again.

His phone alarm went off at 7 am the next day. Oddly, he was energized for the day. He was at work by 8:30 am and drinking a cup of coffee. There was even a skip in his step, which some agents curiously whispered about to each other. Aside from the obvious, FDR was excited to complete his physical and obstacle course, which he completed with flying colors. He couldn't wait to inform Tuck about his reinstatement, but he held off from texting him while he was on a "dangerous" mission.

Before the day's end, Collins informed FDR of his upcoming mission in three days. She expected him to read up on the perps and prepare his tactical approach. Sadly, Tuck wasn't included in this mission. But he was overjoyed about not having to see files ever again.

The next day was about the same for FDR, but he knew that Tuck was finally free. He texted him early in the morning to ask if he wanted to have lunch later. It wasn't necessarily a date in FDR's mind, but he definitely wanted to repeat the intimate moments he shared with Tuck at the restaurant...as well as in his car. Maybe this newly found information would prove useful to him wooing Tuck.

FDR: **Wanna have lunch?**

Tuck:**I would love to, but I have a lunch date.**

FDR: **Oh, with who? Someone from the agency? **

FDR became somewhat worried.

Tuck: **No. It's one of the girls from the dating site. We had been texting for a few days. She texted me the night we had dinner, which is why I kept messing with my phone.**

FDR's heart skipped a beat.

FDR: **Well, can I at least know her name? Or see a picture?**

Tuck: **I didn't ask for a picture because she has a lot on her profile. Her name's Lauren Scott. She's ****a product-testing executive.**

Now he was becoming enraged.

_I missed my chance! No, the hell I did!_

FDR: **Well have fun. Another time maybe.**

Tuck: **Thanks. I'll let you know how it goes.**

_Please don't._

FDR finished his coffee and headed straight to the investigators division. Tuck wasn't the only one who could be charming, thought FDR. He made the agents believe that Lauren Scott was a prime suspect in his next mission just to get information on her. FDR knew this was a decision based on jealousy, but he felt that his bond with Tuck (or whatever new feelings he had for him) would be severed by this girl.

_I've earned my place with him. You haven't!_


End file.
